You Put Away Such Childish Things
by IShipItAllAndThenSome
Summary: And Saved Them For Your Children Glee future!fic, comprised of the Gleeks' children and their various adventures as they grow up. This is about twenty years in the future from Season Three, in the year s 2031-32. Parental Couples Represented: Sebtofsky, Brittana, Wevid, Finchel, Niff, Klaine. Warnings inside. Please, read and review! Constructive criticism is like cookies for me!
1. Avery Part One

**SO! This is a story that many of you have probably read something similar to in basic idea - this is my take on the next generation Gleeks. The characters you recognize are from Glee, the ones you don't are mine or, in the case of Avery, OMGAKAWTF's. I hope you like this enough to review! Format note: Each chapter focuses on a different character, so the first word of each chapter is their name. Yeah. Der. **

**T+ for sexual references, swearing, mild violence.**

* * *

Avery

Avery Loki Smythe-Karofsky stares at himself in the mirror.  
Well, at his chest. Specifically, its profound lack of chest hair.  
'Aves, I'm home!' says a dreamy sort of voice.  
'Hi, Morgana. How was your flight?' he asks. _Why can't I grow any? I don't even have a moustache!_  
'Lovely. Really great,' she says, opening the bathroom door. 'Ooh!'  
She slams it shut, retreating.  
'Jesus, fuck!' Avery shouts.  
'Sorry!'  
Thirty seconds later - 'Only the loo on the plane was out because there was an old man with digestive issues and it was a superlong flight and I drank a lot of lemonade and I've really got to pee!'  
'It's open, Morgie.' He swaggers away, shirt back on.  
'I'd be so angry only thank you!' She rushes in.  
He strolls down the hall, stopping in Atticus' room to check on him. 'Hey, Ticky. Morgie's back.'  
'I know! She's got her accent on and everything! It's really cool!'  
Atticus is his youngest brother. He's a surrogate kid, like Morgana, whereas Avery was adopted when Morgana was six. Luckily, he looks similar to both of them - he's got the same dark hair as Atticus, as well as his freckles and long fingers, and he and Morgana both share curly hair and high voices.  
'Has she seen Daddy and Papa yet?' Avery asks, scooping Atticus up under his right arm and swinging him gently, making him laugh.  
'I think so. Look, look! I got a toy!' Atticus leaps out of Avery's arms, and runs to the other side of the room to retrieve his souvenir. 'Morgie got me it, it's a Bobble-Head Bobby!'  
Avery laughs. The miniature caricatured police officer's head wobbles.  
'Come. Let's show them your Bobby.' He extends a hand.  
Instead of taking it, Atticus scampers onto the bed and scrambles up his back, finally stopping to rest on Avery's shoulders. 'Mush!'  
'Daddy, Papa, Morgie's back and she gave me a cop with a wobbly head!'  
'Did she, now?' smilingly says Sebastian Smythe-Karofsky. 'Lovely.'  
'C'mere, buddy,' David grunts, scooping Atticus up into his arms. 'Ooh, you're getting big!'  
'I'm gonna be bigger than both of you!' Atticus gleefully proclaims.  
Avery smiles, thinking of both of his adopted fathers' heights, and concedes that Atticus will probably be, at least, taller than him.  
'Was Mommy tall?' Atticus asks sourly, arms crossed. His mother is a touchy subject.  
'Yeah, buddy, she was." David, aka Daddy, kisses kisses him on the forehead.  
Lily comes out and begins straightening up. 'Hello, Daddy; hello, Papa.'  
'Hey, 'Gana,' Daddy says, 'You don't have to tidy up. It's alright.'  
'I want to,' she replies, smiling. 'Papa tidies up all the time, and you never stop him.'  
'Because I have him thoroughly whipped,' Sebastian, aka Papa, says, kissing his daughter on the forehead. 'How's Anthea?'  
'Her cancer's gone out of remission. She had just gone in for chemo when I got off the plane; her hair's falling out.'  
Sebastian and David share a look.  
'Hey, Dad, Papa, I gotta go,' Avery says, rushing to the door and cramming his feet into his black Converse. 'I have to meet my boyfriend.'  
'Is it still that twenty-year-old who works at the Westerville Mall Starbucks?' Sebastian asks, eyes narrowed.  
'His name is Paul. I'm going to be late.' He saunters out the door, red skinny jeans clinging suggestively to his rear bumper.  
Sebastian almost growls.

'Hey, Paul,' Avery says seductively, sliding his hands into the taller man's front pockets and pressing against his back. 'Sorry I'm late, my sister got back and it slowed everything down.'  
Paul turns around and kisses him roughly, pressing him against the exterior wall of the Westerville Mall Starbucks. The two of them look less like a young couple kissing in public and more like a pair of exhibitionists getting it on.  
'Wanna sit in the back of the theatre? I have two tickets to The Campaign.' Paul suggestively waggles his eyebrows.  
Avery smiles and nods, clinging closely to Paul's side.  
After the movie ends, they exit with flushed cheeks and puffy red lips. On Avery, however, the red lips look almost normal.

'Hello, Avery,' drones an old, sanctimonious psychotherapist in a nasty lilac pantsuit. 'How are you?'  
'Fine.' He kicks his feet over the back of the sofa, head dangling to the floor.  
'Any recurring depressive thoughts?'  
'No.'  
'How's your family?'  
'Papa still hates my boyfriend. Atticus still hates his mother. Morgana came back; her mom stopped eating again and is losing her hair. Dad's trying to stop her from being a neat-freak. The usual.'  
'Why do you think your father dislikes your boyfriend?' asks Dr. Philibuster.  
'Because he's turning twenty-one in a month, and because Papa caught us in bed on Visitation Day at Dalton.'  
'And Atticus is the one whose mother requested a closed adoption, yes?'  
'Yeah.'  
'Mmm, I see. And your other father, why does he try to stop Morgana cleaning?'  
'He's worried she'll take after her mom, y'know - OCD tendencies as a part of anorexia.'  
'Do you share his worries?'  
'No. Morgie's fine. She's just a neat-freak. You should see her room, it's clinical.'  
'Mmm, yes. And now, touching back on your relationship with Mr. Stone, don't you worry about the closeness your relationship has to the paradigms of statutory rape?'  
'No. I've reached the age of consent, and I want it. 'S fine.'  
'Mmm, yes, well. I'm concerned that your illicit relationship with Mr. Stone may wreak emotional havoc to the point that, in the event that you terminate your relationship, it will plunge you back into a depressive state.'  
'Who says our relationship will terminate? You're just a crusty old bird in a cheap polyblend pantsuit who's going to die alone.'  
'All your past relationships have ended on bad terms, with you being abandoned. This dredges up your abandonment issues and sends you back into a depressive state. I recommend that you end the relationship, thus placing yourself in a more emotionally sound mental state.'  
'No. I'm not dumping him. And besides, you can't make me dump him.'  
'Mmm.'

'I'm home,' Avery grouses, toeing off his shoes by the door.  
'Hi,' shouts Atticus, clamoring over the back of the couch where he was watching Adventure Time. 'Did Dr. Easter Egg say somethin' dumb?'  
'She wanted me to dump Paul. Said he would make me sad.'  
'Does he make you sad?'  
'He makes me happy. I... I think I love him, Ticky.'  
'Like Daddy and Papa.'  
'Yeah.'  
Morgana comes into the room, white nightie practically glowing, bare legs extending from under the short hem like twigs. 'Ticky, Papa told you to go to bed half an hour ago! What're you still doing up?'  
'Adventure Time, c'mon, grab your friends, we're going to a very distant land,' he sings, jumping up and down and wiggling, train pajama top riding up and exposing his belly.  
'C'mere, sweetheart,' Morgana coos, scooping him up and carrying him to bed.  
She closes his door and turns to face Avery. 'How's Paul?' she asks wispily, bare feet padding silently alongside his sliding sock feet.  
'He's fine.'  
'Are you sad to be going back to Dalton?'  
'Not really, I'll just miss Paul. And you guys.'  
'Well, there's always Visitation Day. And weekends.'  
'I suppose so. And what about you and Carmel?'  
'They'll be pleased with my accent. They always are. They say it gives them a "foreign touch". But I'm not pleased with the re-auditioning. Everyone _must_ do it, it's just a bother.'  
'What are you going to sing?'  
'I was thinking Lily Allen, but the swearing is too gratuitous. I'll be doing Killer Queen.'  
'Nice.' A few more steps, and he says, 'I'm trying out for the Warblers.'  
'Oh, lovely! Well, good night,' she says wispily, closing the door.  
'Night, li'l sis.'  
Avery enters his suite - Sebastian makes quite a bit of money - and changes into plaid flannel pants and a grey t-shirt before flopping into bed.

The next morning, Avery dons yesterday's red skinny jeans, a white Oxford button-up, the Dalton Academy blazer and tie, and his black Converse, then stumbles out to breakfast.  
Morgana stands at the stove with Papa, making crepes the way he learnt in Paris. She doesn't drop, spill, splash, or splatter a single thing, leaving her tiered white strapless dress utterly spotless, down to the lace trim on the tiers.  
'Hello, Avery,' she says dreamily, brandishing a plate bearing three crepes and a few strawberries at him. 'Crepes au des fraises?'  
'I take Spanish, Morgie,' Avery says, taking the plate.  
Atticus comes in, decked out in neatly pressed khakis and a sky-blue polo, and takes a plate stacked high with crepes, sits at the granite island, and douses them in hot maple syrup.  
'Daddy's already gone to work, right?' Avery asks, digging in.  
'Yeah, about an hour ago.' Sebastian hands him a glass of milk.  
Morgana bites delicately into a strawberry, then takes a sip of fat-free milk. "Good luck today, big brother.'  
Avery peers at her, carefully examining her. 'Thanks, Morgie.' He observes the cut up mass of crepe on her plate, scooted around and barely picked at. 'You nervous?'  
She peeks at her plate then back up at him. 'Yes, must be. It's losing me my appetite, I'm afraid.' She licks at the bite mark on her strawberry, smiling gently. 'Good luck at Dalton today, Aves!'  
He groans, finishing his crepes and slinging his dishes into the dishwasher and storming off to his room to shove his clothes and possessions into his trunk.  
He shoves it into the car and gets into the front seat, arms crossed and headphones on, blaring Within Temptation.  
'Avery, sweetheart, are you OK?' asks Sebastian, sliding into the driver's seat.  
'Mmf.'  
'Sweetie?'  
'G'way.' He turns up the volume on his iPod and scrunches down in his seat.  
Sebastian sighs and begins the drive towards Dalton.

'Are you going to be OK?' Sebastian asks, reaching out and taking hold of his son's hand. His face is spackled with concern as he regards Avery.  
'You know what, Papa?' he says bitingly. 'Maybe, I'd feel more 'OK' if you didn't tell my psychotherapist to tell me to dump my boyfriend!' Avery pulls away, and drags his trunk away.  
'Avery!'  
Avery continues walking away.  
'Avery Loki Smythe-Karofsky!'  
'Fuck off!'  
Sebastian slumps back into his seat, massaging his temples and trying to will away a migraine.

After once more setting up his room at Dalton, Avery enters the choir room for his Warblers' audition.  
'Hello,' says a tall, well-built boy with dark-chocolate tinted skin and almond-shaped toffee eyes. He smiles at Avery, pushing his silky straight black hair off his brow. 'I'm Gareth, Gareth Williams. This is my friend, Matt Duval. Are you auditioning for the Warblers?'  
'Y-yeah,' Avery stammers, thankfully not blushing. 'I'm Avery...' In a moment of spite, he says, 'Avery Karofsky.'  
'Nice name,' Matt says, grinning boyishly. His blond hair curls against his forehead, and his face exudes a sort of aristocratic, roguish good lookingness.  
One by one, the line shortens, until Matt's up. Avery peeks in, slipping through the door to watch.  
Despite being in a relationship, and his history of falling for older guys, Avery finds his voice sexy. The fact that he's singing Crash by the Dave Matthews Band does absolutely nothing to dissolve that, especially as he sings:  
'Lift up your shirt a little more  
And show your world to me  
In a boy's dream... In a boy's dream.'  
He knows the lyrics are wrong, the pronouns changed, but Avery can't quite bring himself to care.  
'Thank you, Warbler Duval, for volunteering to demonstrate proper Warbler auditional procedure for the B-block of audition. Auditioner Avery, please, step forward.'  
'Hello,' Avery says, clearing his throat. 'I'll be singing Runaway by Avril Lavigne.'  
'Thank you. And what's your vocal range?'  
'Um, I'm a tenor?'  
'Alright, then. Please, begin whenever you're ready,' says Gareth, comfortable behind the big desk, gavel held tenderly in his left hand.  
'Got up on the wrong side of life today, yeah  
Crash the car and I'm gonna be really late  
My phone doesn't work cus it's out of range  
Looks like it's just one of those kind of days

You can't kick me down I'm already on the ground  
No you can't, but you couldn't catch me anyhow  
Blue skies, but the sun isn't coming out, no  
Today is like I'm under a heavy cloud

And I feel so alive  
I can't help myself  
Don't you realize

I just wanna scream and lose control  
Throw my hands up and let it go  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah  
I just wanna fall and lose myself  
Laughing so hard it hurts like hell  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah

So-so's how I'm doing, if you're wondering  
I'm in a fight with the world but I'm winning  
Stay there, come closer it's at your own risk  
Yeah you know how it is life can be a bitch

And I feel so alive  
I can't help myself  
Don't you realize

I just wanna scream and lose control  
Throw my hands up and let it go  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah  
I just wanna fall and lose myself  
Laughing so hard it hurts like hell  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah

Run away, run away  
Run away, run away

I just wanna scream and lose control  
Throw my hands up and let it go  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah  
I just wanna fall and lose myself  
Laughing so hard it hurts like hell  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah

I just wanna scream and lose control  
Throw my hands up and let it go  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah  
I just wanna fall and lose myself  
Laughing so hard it hurts like hell  
Forget about everything and run away, yeah,' Avery finishes, flushed at the thought of being denied for having, what he thinks of as, a girly and high-pitched voice.  
'We'll get back to you, Auditioner Avery. Thank you, very much.' Gareth smiles.  
Avery nods and exits.

'So,' says Matt, strolling nonchalantly beside Avery, 'Why're you here, at Dalton?'  
'My father went here.'  
'So did my dads. Jeff Sterling and Nick Duval.'  
'Were they Warblers, too, Warbler Duval?'  
Matt laughs, and Avery is enchanted. 'Yes. Was yours?'  
'Mm-hmm. We're not very similar, though. He's not fond of my taste in men, even though Dad is a year older than he is.'  
Matt's eyebrows raise, and he grins. They walk in companionable silence for a while.  
'What room are you in?'  
Avery's heart flutters. 'Erm, Room 1, House 6.'  
'I'm in Room 2. No room-mate.'  
Avery licks his lips, noticing as Matt devours the sight of his rear bumper in tight red jeans. 'Lucky you.'  
'Let's cut to the chase,' Matt says, voice low. 'I... _like_ you.'  
'You met me two hours ago.'  
'Does that matter?'  
'Maybe.'  
'Do you like me?'  
'Maybe.'  
Matt laughs and then kisses Avery, sweetly, on the cheek. 'I'll let you get over your ambivalence, then.'  
Matt saunters away, leaving Avery pondering how someone's ass could look so fantastic in wool trousers.  
That, and how he had to tell Paul.

That whole week, Avery had avoided Matt with astounding efficiency. He left his room an hour early each morning, ate meals in the library, and sat front and centre in class, making conversation impossible.  
On Friday, he calls Paul and asks him to drive up.  
Rather than go out, the now twenty-one-year-old chooses sex. He presses himself down on Avery, exchanging heated touches and heavy kisses. Paul pulls off Avery's tight black t-shirt, and sheds his own green Starbucks polo before flipping them and pushing Avery down towards his zip.  
'Your "maybe" meant "no", then? Say what you mean, Avery; don't lead me on,' Matt says, hurt scrawled all over his classically good-looking face.  
He slams the door, and runs down the hall, trying not to cry.  
'You fucked him, didn't you?' yells Paul.  
'No. No! Paul, I swear, I love you - '  
Paul slaps him, then tugs his shirt back on and storms out. 'We're fucking through, you whore!'  
As Paul leaves, Avery tucks his knees to his chin and lets the tears fall.

* * *

**Yes, yes, sad first chapter, I get it. Boo! Grab your torch and pitchforks! There is teen angst, but also cute family and relationship stuff in the rest of the chapters. Also, there's a warning for each chapter based on content, rather than an overarching warning for everything, which I find is always a downer. So, next chapter updated soon!**


	2. Lily Part One

Lily

It is 3:45 a.m., and Lily finishes off her morning routine - one hour on the treadmill on the highest level, three hundred crunches, one hundred push-ups, a long shower - with the application of red shimmery lip gloss and black mascara.  
She puts on a white cotton-spandex pair of panties and a white bra, and then stands in front of her three-paneled mirror, examining her body.  
It's an even, creamy white, and utterly hairless and smooth. Her limbs are thin as reeds and toned to perfection; her clavicle, shoulder-blades, knee-caps, and wrists and ankles are sharply protruding; her flat stomach bears the perfect amount of abdominal musculature, and her slim hips jut out slightly.  
It is the perfect body for ballet, the mandatory body for Vocal Adrenaline, and yet she skims her hands over its' surface with a dissatisfied pout on her lovely lips.  
Sighing, she dons a white peplum dress - only last week it was body-conscious - that hangs somewhat loosely on her lithe, elegant frame. She purses her lips, torn between being pleased with her body or concerned that Vocal Adrenaline's diet and exercise plan has robbed it of ten pounds, then exchanges the dress for a white fit-and-flare frock with white lace overlay, white stockings, and white T-strap Mary-Janes with two-inch heels. She twists her kinky, curly, barely-tameable blonde locks into an elegant updo, a neat roll of hair pinned in place by her left ear and hair-sprayed.  
She brushes her teeth, reapplies her red gloss, and leaves her suite just as her alarm goes off, signaling that it is four a.m.  
She begins working on red velvet waffles, energetically and efficiently beating egg whites into meringue and mixing together the ingredients before pouring one cup increments of the batter into the waffle iron, making perfect squares each and every time. As each waffle finishes, she whips up three toppings - cream cheese frosting with a hint of vanilla, dark chocolate cream, and hot maple syrup with strawberry juice.  
Dave comes in, tie done wrong but suit impeccably pressed, bleary. He perks up when he sees the gorgeous crimson squares. 'Honey, how early did you wake up for this?'  
'I was up at two, but that was so I could shower and dress and start my School Year D&E Vocal Adrenaline Mandatory Regimen. I came in here at four. Relax, Daddy. You need to eat, too.' She hands him a plate stacked with three waffles, each one drizzled sparingly with the cream cheese frosting - his favourite topping.  
'You haven't worn that dress in a while,' he notes as she sets down his black National News coffee cup, brimming with sharp, dark coffee. 'Didn't it get too small?'  
'I've been following my Regimen. If I want a college scholarship, I need Vocal Adrenaline on my resume. I haven't lost anything massive or unhealthy; I weigh what I weighed last Spring. Besides, my peplum got too loose. I'll take it in tonight.'  
Dave eyes her over the lip of his cup. Morgana's his little princess, always has been. He worries. Constantly. He watches her slim form as she swipes up a drop of coffee the second it happens, obsessively keeping the granite counter-tops pristine.  
'Stop worrying, Daddy, please. Now, let me fix your tie, then finish your breakfast and coffee and brush your teeth and go to work.' She reties the strip of silk and returns to the batter, covering it in cellophane, then the toppings, and setting them in the fridge for safekeeping.  
Dave finishes his food and moves to wash up, but Lily steals his dishes and cutlery, arranging them neatly in the dishwasher. 'Teeth. Clean them. Now.' She smiles sweetly, and he melts, complying.  
He returns in three minutes and kisses her on the forehead. 'I love you, 'Gana.'  
'I love you, too, Daddy. Now, go! You're going to be late, and Mandy O'Breilly is not competent enough to watch on the news for an hour before everyone else wakes up.'  
Dave laughs and shrugs on his jacket before ducking out. Dave is lead anchor for National News, and his Junior Assistant Anchor, Mandy O'Breilly, is an imbecilic bimbo with alarmingly fake - well, everything.  
Needless to say, National News is nothing without Dave.  
For the next half-hour, Morgana completely cleans the kitchen, empties the dishwasher, and wakes Sebastian so they can watch together.  
Seb lounges elegantly next to Lily in a wool twill Calvin Klein suit that has a faint metallic sheen. His purple button-up clings to his torso, accenting his gunmetal grey suit. His black Italian leather shoes are quite obviously painstakingly handmade. He's the epitome of effortless elegance and class; Lily used to look at him like a god - now, he's her best friend.  
They watch Dave read out the news, as effortlessly friendly and clear as his normal speech. Sebastian looks at Dave's TV image with so much love that it's palpable.  
When the show ends, Lily and Sebastian enter the kitchen to make the rest of the family's waffles.  
'So, how many are we making?' Sebastian asks.  
'Atticus, four; and you, one - so, five.'  
'Aren't you eating?'  
Without realizing she's doing it, or consciously knowing why, Lily lies. 'I ate with Daddy. He's worried. He thinks I'm too thin because I outgrew this dress last Spring. It's just the mandatory exercise. I want to be in peak shape for competition season and auditions.'  
'Oh, sweetheart, you'll be fine,' Sebastian assures her, giving her a tight hug. 'You look fantastic.'  
'Yeah, only I want a scholarship, and Vocal Adrenaline is the master key to higher education.'  
'You don't need a scholarship, sweetheart.'  
'I know, only I want one.'  
'Alright. Go wake Atticus, please?'  
Lily complies, entering Atticus' to lay out his clothes and wake him. She sets out a cream button-up and a pair of classic jeans, as well as a navy blue collegiate sweater because NN said there would be an early autumnal chill.  
By the time the waffles are done, Atticus is sleepily sitting at the table, knife and fork in hand and milk moustache firmly in place.  
Lily watches them eat, stomach clenched to fight any potential growlings. She is completely in control.

Lily arrives at school at 6:23, seven minutes early for her audition, and begins practising scales. 'Do, do re do, do re mi re do, do re mi fa mi re do, do re mi fa so fa mi re do, do re mi fa so la so fa mi re do, do re mi fa so la ti la so fa mi re do, do re mi fa so la ti do ti la so fa mi re do, oh.'  
'Lovely, Lilian,' says a smarmy voice. Morgana turns and smiles dreamily at a tall, dirty blond man in a black suit and matching black t-shirt with his hair greased heavily back.  
'Hello, Mr. StJames,' she says. 'I'm re-auditioning.'  
'Alright, Miss Corazon is behind the curtain; she'll check to see that you're up to our physical standards.'  
Sunshine Corazon is a middle-aged Phillipina with a rounded figure in a tangerine cashmere cardigan and a khaki polyester pencil skirt from Old Navy. She tells Morgana to take off her clothes, shoes, and jewelry, and so Morgana stands in her underthings on a scale, body on show.  
'Weight: 103 lbs. You could stand to lose at least ten pounds, dear.' Sunshine smiles patronisingly.  
Lily puts her clothes back on and walks to the queue, waiting to sing.  
'Smythe-Karofsky, Lilian. Come to the stage.'  
She obeys, silently walking up the steps and onto centre stage. 'I'll be singing Killer Queen.' It's showy, sexy, and catchy - the perfect song for Vocal Adrenaline.  
'Begin. Now.'  
'She keeps Moet and Chandon in her pretty cabinet  
"Let them eat cake" she says  
Just like Marie Antoinette  
A built in remedy for Khrushchev and Kennedy  
And anytime an invitation you can't decline  
Caviar and cigarettes well versed in etiquette  
Extr'ordinarily nice

She's a killer queen gunpowder gelatine  
Dynamite with a lazer beam  
Guaranteed to blow your mind  
Recommended at the price  
Insatiable an appetite wanna try?

To avoid complications  
She never kept the same address  
In conversation she spoke just like a baroness  
Met a man from China went down to Geisha Minah  
Then again incidentally if you're that way inclined  
Perfume came naturally from Paris  
For cars she couldn't care less  
Fastidious and precise

She's a killer queen gunpowder gelatine  
Dynamite with a lazer beam  
Guaranteed to blow your mind  
Recommended at the price  
Insatiable in appetite wanna try?

Drop of a hat she's as willing as a playful as a pussy cat  
Then momentarily out of action  
Temporarily out of gas  
To absolutely drive you wild - wild  
She's out to get you

She's a killer queen gunpowder gelatine  
Dynamite with a lazer beam  
Guaranteed to blow your mind  
Recommended at the price  
Insatiable an appetite wanna try?

Wanna try?'  
'Back on, then. Retire to the studio; practice is in fifteen minutes.'  
Lily silently walks away.

After "school" - code for "miss all of your classes and do cardio-vocal combo exercises for eight hours straight", Lily waits for Dave to pick her up. Jesse, as per usual, was a charming bastard, and the new recruits loudly complain of aching everything. She just wants to go home and spend a few hours studying on an elliptical.  
'Who're you waiting for?' asks a gravelly but sweet voice. Morgana turns, eyes wide and curious.  
'Hello,' she says, voice dazed. Lily looks at a tall, slim, curvy girl with dark olive skin, a short chocolate bob with blunt bangs, and bright blue eyes. The girl's accentuated her figure with an orange silk baby doll top which bares her shoulders, a short denim miniskirt that clings like static, tall brown boots, and gold jewelry. 'I'm Lily. I'm waiting for my Dad.'  
'I'm, uh,' she flounders, eyes wide and lovely and aquamarine. Lily refuses to stare. 'I'm... Sophia?'  
'Lovely. You're not from here, are you?'  
'I have to go. My big sister's picking me up; I don't have a license. Sugar, I'm over here!' The gorgeous girl runs over to a hot pink Corvette and jumps in.  
Morgana, once she's gone, smiles happily, baring her front teeth. It's cute, almost pretty.  
'Hey, honey,' says Dave, opening the car door. 'Who was that?'  
'She said her name was Sophia; she's not from around here. I think she lied about her name.'  
Lily chatters about nothing for the car ride home, ignoring the pangs in her stomach. She looks out the window with disgust at the people she sees - jogging, walking dogs, talking on their mobiles, just standing there - and watches with a disgustedly rapt expression as they jiggle with their every breath.

Two nights later, at dinner - lasagna with chicken - Lily cuts up her food and pushes it around, mindless.  
'Oh, Daddy?' she asks, setting down her fork before it could touch her lips. 'Why hasn't Mandy been fired yet?'  
'She's good for the ratings. Apparently, news needs stupid plastic women to be watched.'  
This starts a new conversation, in which Lily is amusing and intelligent and active. Her food travels by fork up to her lips, then she sets the utensil back down to speak.  
'I'll clear up, don't worry,' Lily offers.  
'Oh, really? You are incredible! Davey, can you make sure Atticus doesn't drown in his bath?' Sebastian asks, seductive face on and deployed. David is putty.  
Lily loads the dishwasher with everyone else's plates, glasses, and utensils, then turns it on. She scrubs down the countertop and starts for the lasagna pan before remembering Atticus' bath. She forays for her fathers, finding them in the garage of all places. She's about to enter when she hears Sebastian say, 'Anthea Wells is a lovely woman, but she didn't want to raise a child while she was sick.'  
'_Was_ sick? Seb, she's _lost_ her _hair_. She's past sick. If she doesn't commit to recovery, she's dying, and I'm not letting her take our baby girl to Hell and back as she climbs into her grave!'  
Lily backs away slowly, then runs to her suite. She strips naked, takes off her jewelry, takes a deep breath and releases it, and gets on the scale.  
In three days, she's lost six pounds.  
The number 97 smiles up at her.  
She puts her clothes back on and returns to the kitchen. Her uneaten lasagna seems to exude malevolence.  
Triumphantly, she dumps it down the garbage disposal and flips the switch.

* * *

**Sugar, in here, is the child of Season Three's token gays (2 and 3 have multiple, and their story arc is just them becoming a relationship; 1 just had Kurt). 'Sophia' is her little sister, and she's up next.**


	3. Cam Part One

**So, here's Chapter 3! The big Oh-Three. Wow. Not a big stepping-stone there, huh? Oh, well. So, this is the first Brittana!baby chapter, which some of you may have known, but I can't be sure, as none of you reviewed. Oh, well. C'est la vie. **

**T+ for suggested wanking, language, and dreamt character death. **

* * *

Camilla

Half-past noon on a Saturday, a pair of bright aquamarine eyes flash open. Sitting straight up with a groan, she rolls out of bed, orange lace-trimmed camp and shorts a rumpled mess, and attempts to fix her messy chocolate bob.  
'Camilla!' yells a grating, nasal voice from their shared bathroom. 'Don't you dare use the water! I'm showering!'  
Resigned, Camilla brushes her hair until it lies somewhat flat, then opens a small, aubergine velvet-quilted book with gold stitching that spells "Dream Journal". She begins to write:  
_1st October, 2031_  
_I dreamt of the girl from Carmel. Again. The past month is just dreams of her._  
_Lily was naked on my bed, and then she crawled into my lap and started kissing and stripping me. She kissed her way down to the top of my bikini-bottom tan-line before I woke up._  
The dream comes flooding back, and, eyes shut, she pictures Lily making it past that tan-line. She pulls the covers up over her self, hand traveling south.  
Lily's delicate fingers holding her dark thighs apart...  
Lily's blonde curls bobbing up like the sun, rising over the valley of her pelvis...  
Lily's hands reaching up and twisting...  
'Oh, ew, gross! Mama, Camilla's playing with herself! What do I do?'  
Santana Lopez shouts back, 'Get her a girlfriend or learn to knock, sugar!'  
"Sugar" - birth name Sophia - slams the door.  
Camilla groans, yanking the covers up over her head.

Once showered and dressed in denim shorts and a white tank top, Camilla enters the kitchen, where Brittany and Santana Lopez are making pumpkin bread.  
'Can I help?' she asks, playing with a lock of hair.  
'Only if your hands are clean. There's an outbreak of Yak Flu going around, and your grandmother won't eat anything unless it's 100% sterile.'  
'Yes, Mama.' Camilla scrubs her hands thoroughly, then dries them, and helps form a loaf. As the loaves bake, they watch a romantic comedy and somehow end up bombarding each other with kernels.  
They cut open one loaf and smell.  
'That is delicious,' Brittany says, pinching off a piece. Soon, the loaf is gone, and the three of them have finished Crazy, Stupid, Love.  
'I am so happy we Googled this recipe,' Santana sighs happily, sprawled out on her wife's lap.

That Monday, Camilla enters the choir room in black leather skinny-pants and a white T-shirt with a wolf's head applied to her chest with rhinestones.  
'I'm auditioning for the New Directions,' she grins, hands on her hips.  
'Go for it.'  
She clears her throat, and then begins:  
'S.O.S., she's in disguise  
S.O.S., she's in disguise  
There's a she-wolf in disguise  
Coming out, coming out, coming out!

A domesticated girl that's all you ask of me,  
Darling it is no joke, this is lycanthropy.  
Moon's awake now, with eyes wide open  
My body is craving, so feed the hungry

I've been devoting myself to you  
Monday to Monday  
And Friday to Friday  
Not getting enough retribution or decent incentives to keep me at it  
Starting to feel just a little abused  
Like a coffee machine in an office  
So I'm gonna go somewhere closer  
To get me a lover and tell you about it

There's a she wolf in the closet,  
Open up and set it free  
There's a she wolf in the closet,  
Let it out so it can breathe

Sitting across the bar, staring right at her prey,  
It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way.  
Nocturnal creatures are not so prudent,  
The moon's my teacher, and I'm her student.

To look at the single man I've got on me a special radar,  
And the fire department's hotline in case i get in trouble later  
Not looking for cute little divas or rich city guys that just want to enjoy  
I'm having a very good time and behave very bad in the arms of a boy

There's a she wolf in the closet,  
Open up and set it free  
There's a she wolf in the closet,  
Let it out so it can breathe

S.O.S she is in disguise  
S.O.S she is in disguise, breathes heavily  
There's a she wolf in disguise,  
Coming out, coming out, coming out

S.O.S she is in disguise  
S.O.S she is in disguise  
There's a she wolf in disguise,  
Coming out, coming out, coming out

There's a she wolf in the closet,  
Let it out so it can breathe.'  
She blazes through the song, impressing everyone.  
'Welcome to the New Directions!'  
She sits down next to a pretty girl with sharp features in a zig-zag striped purple and black sequined tank top with torn black stockings and black, pointed toe, stiletto pumps.  
'Hello, Ellie.'  
'Hopez.'  
'Really? You're going for snark right off the bat?'  
'There's no waiting period.'  
'Gee, thanks! Bitching is _so_ much _more bothersome_ if there's a waiting period.'  
'That song is lying on the floor a bloody, murdered mess.'  
'Really? I mean, I knew I totally killed it, but thanks for the compliment.'

There's a temporary lull in conversation as the curly, grey-haired Glee club coach rambles on - lasting all of five seconds. 'So, you're coming out, then, Lesbomb?' Ellie snipes.  
'No. I've been out since I was eleven. I'm nowhere near a closet, whereas you, Narnia Dweller... Well, that's just self-explanatory.'  
'I suppose it's to be expected. You had a dyke for a mom and... Yep, another dyke for a mom.'  
'Don't you dare talk about my family.' Something in Camilla's voice screams lethality.  
'I'll talk about whoever I want to talk about. Freedom of speech, rug addict.'  
'I'll have you know, I'm a virgin.'  
'Yeah, because even a Keebler Elf's tongue couldn't get up that shrively little hole between your legs.'  
'Unlike yours, which I'm pretty sure could become a temporary habitat for the world's bat population - y'know, 'cos it's big, cavernous, damp, dark - at least, until you went on your next Slutting Around Binge. Then they'd all get crushed to bits and covered in slime.'  
'At least I have fun, and I don't spend every weekend clinging to my Mommies and fapping to the mental image of some girl I met all of one time after having fucked-up death dreams about her. What, do you get of on all dead girls, Camilla, or just this one?'  
Camilla slaps her before storming out.

'So,' asks Oliver, smoothly falling into step beside Camilla, 'What did you find out when you spied on Carmel?'  
'I still can't believe you made me do that because I wasn't a member yet and couldn't get you disqualified,' she grouses.  
'So?'  
'They'd only done auditions that morning. There were a few really good people, from what I saw. They spent the whole day doing cardio-dance and vocal warm-ups.'  
'OK, great,' Oliver moans, blue eyes twinkling. 'We're fucked.'  
'Little bit,' Camilla jokes.  
A few more moments of walking down the hall, and Oliver asks, 'So, did you meet a nice girl?'  
'What?'  
'My dads met when one of them was spying on the other's show choir group.'  
'You're obsessed with that origin story,' Camilla laughs.  
'Yes, yes, I am. So, what's her name?'  
'Morgana. You're so psychic. It's creepy. Stop it.'  
Their eyes meet, and they laugh.  
'Well, I've gotta go; Sophia's driving me, and she hates when I'm late.'  
Camilla rushes to Sophia's car and gets in and lets the rude teenager drive horribly, freeing her up to ponder Morgana.

Screaming, Camilla jerks awake, falling out of her bed. Chest heaving, she scrambles to her feet and opens up her dream journal. She writes:  
_5th October, 2031_  
_It starts out with Lily underneath me, pulling me down and kissing my neck. Then the bed disappears, and I'm upright, looking at Lily's emaciated body as she lies broken and hollow and dead on the ground. Her white dress is soaked with blood dripping down her chin from her slightly parted lips. Then, she's lying in a coffin in a black velvet dress, her lips painted in lipstick that matches her blood exactly._  
Camilla sets the book down and curls up into herself, trying to forget the image.

* * *

**Sorry that this was a shortie (around 1500 words instead of the usual 2000+), but, I'm pretty sure it's just as good. So, I'd really like to hear what you think of this story in general, as well as this chapter specifically. Just, one massive review squinting at the whole story thus far like a jeweler inspecting a sort of shifty-origins diamond. Wow, that was a fun metaphor! Metaphor, gimme more! (Note: You are not obligated to laugh at that.)**


	4. Gareth Part One

**Hello! Warnings: Underaged drinking, skanks'n'hos, unwanted lady bits, creepy sexual texts, swears, and casual French.**

Gareth

Not a day goes by when Gareth Williams, son of Wes Williams and David Cooper, does not get hit on by members of both sexes.  
He doesn't lead them on, or slut around. His fathers' genes combined to give him a rare, undeniable, exotic kind of overall gorgeousness, and his upbringing has turned him into a charming, well-behaved, dapper seventeen-year-old boy.  
He just doesn't return his peers' affections for the stuff in people's pants.  
His phone buzzes, and he turns around to answer it, scooping up his mobile and saying politely, 'This is Gareth Wells' phone, Gareth Wells speaking. How did you get this number?'  
'Hi, I'm Amber. I'm a Crawford girl? I was wondering - '  
Gareth cuts off her intentionally sultry voice. 'I'm not interested in going on a date with you. I apologize for cutting you off.'  
'What? OK, what about - ?'  
'Once more, my most sincere apologies for interrupting you. I've had twelve calls of this nature already today, and I'm quite fed up. I am not interested in your romantic or sexual company. Goodbye.'  
He hangs up, wrinkling his nose in frustration.  
He feels his phone buzz in his hand, and checks to see if the text is from Matt or Avery.  
It reads:  
_Hey, luvr I wnna fk u 2nite house 4 rm 3 no rmmt_  
Gareth frantically deletes the text and flings his phone away in fear.  
'Hey, Gareth, we're going to be late for practice,' Matt says through the door, knocking.  
Gareth's eyes bug out. He grabs his phone and an impeccable white folder and rushes out the door.  
Avery snickers, but tries to brush it off as a cough.  
'We're not actually going to be late, are we?' Gareth says, eyebrow cocked.  
'No, my charming friend, we are not,' Matt laughs. 'Now, come! To practice we go!'  
'Hey! Are you giving people my number?' he asks, chasing off after his exuberant friends.  
'No! 'Course not, Gary! Why would we?'  
Avery shakes his head, filling Gareth with guilt at accusing someone he only met a month ago of something like that with no proof. 'Of course. My apologies.'  
They hurry down the hall, Matt's joke and the interrogation having eaten up their time.

'Order, order!' Gareth shouts, banging his gavel against the table.  
Complete and utter havoc continues, paying him no mind.  
'I will have order!'  
Everyone finally falls silent.  
'Thank you!' He straightens his blazer and tie before continuing. 'Now, we are an a cappella group, and this means we perform without musical accompaniment.'  
'Huh?'  
'We do it with our mouths.'  
Someone laughs.  
'Anyways, that means we cannot recreate a full orchestra with twenty-two guys, twenty-one, really, because of our soloist. So, no orchestral pieces, got it?'  
A group of freshmen nod, crestfallen.  
'Thank you for listening so agreeably. Now, we're tied between three songs.'  
Gareth and the other council members finish the meeting off with a decision and a run-through of the two-step.  
After the meeting ends, the three boys high-tail it to the Lima Bean and order.  
'So, you guys, new order of business,' Matt states enthusiastically, clapping his hands together once for emphasis. 'A party is being thrown in Lima. We're going. All in favour?'  
Matt's raised hand is soon accompanied by Avery's.  
'Out-voted, buddy. Sorry,' Matt says, clapping Gareth on the shoulder.  
They pay for their coffees and sit down, discussing the party and not noticing Gareth's lack of excitement.  
'Wait,' Avery says, 'That's a Carmel party. How do you know someone at Carmel?'  
'Same as you do - your little sister.'  
'What?'  
'Yeah. She's trying to get some girl she met to show up. She rode around Lima, putting up posters.'  
'Including Lima Heights?' It comes out as a squeak. He's worried.  
'Yep. Some girl came and spied on VA, and since their only real competition are us and the Nude Erections - '  
'Is that name legal?' Gareth asks, eyes wide.  
'I don't know, buddy. I really don't. - so she connected the dots and went to Lima.'  
'Oh, my God.' Avery buries his head in his arms.  
'So, there are going to be people from McKinley and Dalton at a Carmel party?'  
'Yep,' Matt says cheerfully, slurping the last of his espresso.  
'We're all going to die tonight,' Gareth announces.  
Matt just laughs.

As they're about to get into Gareth's car, Avery takes a single look at him and says, 'Go back inside and change. Now.'  
'It's hopeless. I've tried before; he will not part with that uniform-esque look,' Matt sighs.  
Gareth looks down at his outfit - navy blue blazer, slate grey slacks, a white button-up, and perfectly polished black loafers. 'What's wrong with it?'  
'You look like you're still wearing the uniform.'  
Avery pulls off his blazer, undoes the first two buttons, and hands him a pair of red Converse with 'Avery's P.E. shoes' written on the insoles. 'I'd lend you some black jeans, but this is my only non-uniform outfit. I refuse to wear slacks.'  
'You have tons of jeans back inside!' Matt laughs.  
'I've worn them all.'  
'Damn.'  
'Yeah.' After spacily gazing at Matt for a few seconds, Avery snaps to and says, 'I suppose he can go as-is.'  
'Good. Let's roll, _mes amis_!'

Gareth hates parties. Really. Hates them.  
All his creepy stalkers somehow manage to show up and drunkenly hit on him. Not fun.  
Such is the case tonight, with the fun new add-ons of Carmel snobs and McKinley skanks. One girl in a short, layered, tutu-esque skirt has the audacity to straddle his lap and whisper, with her beer-soaked tongue playing against his skin, 'I'm not wearing panties.'  
He releases a hoarse yell, ejecting her from his lap and providing visual proof that she was not, in fact, wearing panties, so he could scamper over the back of the couch and flee.  
Matt and Avery laugh at his predicament, and so he kindly ushers them into a closet to shut them up.  
'Oh, my days, I need a drink,' he groans, grabbing a SOLO cup and downing it in one go.  
In fifteen minutes, he can't remember his own name, only that it's not fun to have the guy who lost strip poker forcibly take a piggy back ride from you and that his car is right across the street.  
He steals a Red Bull from the fridge and chugs it, waits for the caffeine to kick in and sober him up a little, and drives away.

The next morning, he wakes up, a little tired but not at all hung-over, and gets ready for school. He realizes that Matt's not outside his door, being annoying, and remembers leaving him and Avery at the party.  
'Damn!' he hisses, running down the corridor to check on them before calling the cops.  
He busts down Avery's door first to find his roommate alone and naked.  
'Sorry! Sorry. Shit.'  
He busts down Matt's...  
To find Matt and Avery cuddling, blankets sloppily pulled up to their waists and clothes thrown haphazardly to the floor.  
He squeaks.  
'Huhwhazzat?' Matt grumbles, propping himself up and smacking his lips, eyes bleary. Avery worms into his spot, stealing the whole bed.  
'You... Avery... Naked... Aaah!'  
Matt fully leaves the bed, and Gareth covers his eyes. Instinctively, Matt cups his hands over his bits.  
He looks down. 'Relax, buddy, I'm wearing boxers.'  
'So, you didn't?'  
Avery sits up. 'Stop speaking, I'm sleeping.'  
'You guys didn't have sex?'  
'No,' Avery says. 'My roommate locked me out and said I was a sex criminal, so we went to Matt's room. He let me sleep in his bed because I have nightmares, and I didn't want him sleeping on the floor in his own room, so we decided to temporarily share the bed.'  
'Oh, thank God.'  
Matt walks over to his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of boxers, then takes off his own and bends down to put the clean pair on.  
'Aaaah!'  
The elastic band snaps in place. 'Prude.'

* * *

**Yes, it has been ages. I didn't want to post anything until I got another review or follow. But it has been months. It's a new year. Feel free to review. Feel free to flip me off. Live life to the fullest!****_ Vivat la vie! _Sorry that this is so short.**


	5. Ellie Part One

**Hello! I'm annoyed; I want you to review! Tell me I'm crap; tell me I suck; tell me I'm the next Rowling! Just tell me something! Warnings: Underaged drinking, underaged illegal drug use, underaged partying, swears, underaged smoking, violence, threatened violence, casual mentions of paedophilia and murder and roofies (trigger warning) as well as domestic abuse via parents. **

Ellie

Rather than waking up at five and showering, Elphaba 'Ellie' Berry crawls up the drainage pipe from her gutter and sneaks back in. She lands on her teal shag carpet with a thud, thanks to her clunky stiletto-heeled blue booties, but her parents don't seem to hear because, as usual, they're up at the wee hours of the morning to shout and hurl abuse.  
Well.  
Finn shouts and hurls abuse, and Rachel sobs on the floor.  
Ellie takes off her party clothes, carelessly dropping her ruined fishnet thigh-high socks to the floor, dumping her skintight black sequined tank dress in the back of her closet, and jumping into the shower. She swipes at the already-smudged eye makeup to wash it down the drain and listens to the water, trying to drown out her father's yelling.  
Once she finishes washing off the previous night's partying, she steps out and gets ready for the day.  
'...fucking bitch!' Something shatters.  
Ellie draws a thick black line around her brown eyes and smudges on some black and grey eyeshadow.  
'You have nothing to cry about!' A thud.  
Ellie pulls on a black lace long-sleeved shirt over a black tank top, careful of her freshly-curled hair, and slides on a pair of denim shorts and red high-heeled boots.  
'Goddamn f - Oh, hi, honey!' Finn says, uncurling his fist. Ellie smiles hollowly and grabs an apple. She eats it quickly, observing the awkward tension between her parents, then rushes upstairs to brush her teeth and apply candy-apple red lipgloss. She grabs her schoolbag and runs to her convertible, sliding into the drivers' seat and peeling out of the driveway.  
The radio blasts angry, profane rap music, and her lips curl into a slight, venomous smile.  
She swings her long, lean legs over her car door and drops out, sauntering up to a familiar girl with short dark hair.  
'Hey, RugMunch,' she says, propping an elbow on Camilla's shoulder and propping her head up on her hand. She eyes the petite blonde standing in front of them, locking her sights on a new prey. 'Nice of you to get into paedophilia. It's important to be an equal opportunity rug-muncher, isn't it?'  
'Screw off, Ellie.' Camilla shrugs her elbow off, aquamarine eyes narrowed into a death glare.  
Ellie laughs. 'So nice to meet your little friend again,' she coos, poking Lily in the collarbone with her long red nails. 'But why on earth would you take a ten-year-old on a date to a high-school parking lot?'  
'It's not a date,' Lily says in a small, dreamy voice lacking any force.  
'Don't you know? Camilla here's a rapist. She's got roofs and a hunting knife in her bag. You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to Victim #3 Land!'  
'Fuck you,' Camilla says, voice low and rough. 'Lily, I'll see you 'round, OK?'  
'Sure, Cam. Walk me to my bike?'  
Camilla nods, linking their arms and escorting Lily to an old-fashioned white bike in surprisingly good condition - the spokes gleam.  
'Later, Munchkin!' Ellie yells, laughing.  
Camilla walks back, anger obvious. 'What the hell was that? I'm not kidding, Elphaba! You had no right - '  
Ellie throws a punch, hitting Camilla square in the jaw. She falls, and Ellie crouches over her prone form, pinching her chin and leaning in close.  
'_Never_ call me that. I can do whatever the fuck I want, Cammy dear, because I _own_ this school. I own this school, I own the teachers, I own the students, and most of all,_ I own you._ So, get up, dust yourself off, and _get the fuck_ out of my sight.'  
Camilla curls upwards so their faces are even and spits. A glob of blood splatters across Ellie's face.  
She releases Camilla's chin and kicks her back to the pavement. Her high-heeled boot presses sharply into Camilla's chest.  
'I own you, dear, remember? I have no qualms about turning you into a bloody pulp in the parking lot, and I have no qualms about bringing back slushies as a special treat for your little bride in white. Get me?'  
She steps off, sauntering away. 'See you in Glee, dear.'  
Oliver runs forward, pulling Camilla up and offering her a hanky to sop up the blood. She leans heavily on his shoulder as they walk to the nurse's office.  
Observing this, Ellie takes a drag off her freshly-lit cigarette and blows a smoke ring, that venomous smirk back on her pouty, pink lips.

That night, she puts on a black, nearly see-through nightie and shredded black stockings with purple velvet platform pumps and purple plastic chain necklaces, paints her nails to match, and sneaks out to a party.  
She enters the door and hands her cropped black leather motorcycle jacket to a geek standing by the coat closet before approaching a twenty-six-year-old man with a scruffy beard and a washed-out green buzz cut. She hands him a thin roll of twenties and gets a handful of plastic baggies. 'Thanks, Steve,' she says sarcastically.  
She enters the living room, scoping out the crowd, and finds a tall, scruffily-cute guy with something silver in his jacket pocket and a bottle of tequila.  
She opens a baggie and selects a small, round, white pill and gingerly places it on the tip of her tongue before approaching him. As it dissolves, she starts dancing. She swallows once, to clear away the residue, and grinds her bum against the front of his jeans.  
In one minute, they're upstairs in the host's parents' bed, taking shots for every item of clothing removed. The bottle is empty when he lies down beneath her and she kisses him.  
Ellie Berry takes big shots.  
When he passes out, she puts her clothes back on and wipes away lipstick smudges. 'Pussy,' she laughs, taking the silver flask from his jacket and taking a swig as she saunters out of the room, hips swaying.

Later that day, she climbs up through her window and takes a shower, brushes her teeth, and gets dressed in a pair of sand-washed short shorts and a shredded white wifebeater. She laces up her Timberlands and throws on a fake-fur vest, applies her usual makeup, grabs her bag and a banana, and drives to school.  
'Hey, Ke$ha knock-off, I want to speak with you,' Camilla shouts, storming over to Ellie's dark purple convertible.  
'What, dear?' Ellie blows a cloud of smoke in her face, boots dangling out over the top of the door.  
'You had no right to speak to me or Lily that way, you - '  
Ellie hops out, brandishing the cigarette eerily close to Camilla's right eye. 'I own you, remember? Huh, _bitch?_ Now, run along. Mommy's got work to do.'  
Ellie moves to push Camilla out of the way, but Camilla pushes her back. 'Fuck you. You can't _treat_ people like this!'  
'Just watch me, dear,' she hisses, flinging her cigarette away. The acrid scent of burning plastic and garbage fill the air; it must've landed in a dumpster. 'Now, _get out of my way!_'  
'No!'  
A crowd begins to gather, just in time for Camilla to shove Ellie up against her car. 'You listen to me, _dear,_' she says, voice cutting, 'I have razor blades in my hair and I don't deal well with _bitches_ like you _deciding_ they _get to play God._ So you have a choice to make, chica: You can fuck off and _never_ speak in my presence again and leave everyone alone, or you can continue being a bitch _and I will turn you into sashimi!'_  
'Or,' Ellie says, voice carrying a death threat more powerful than any verbal one, 'I can do this. Mr. Schue! Camilla pushed me!'  
The grey-haired choir director rushes over, clearing the crowd. 'Ellie, are you alright?' he asks, fearing for his job if he loses a soloist.  
Tearfully, she nods. 'Yes, Mr. Schue.'  
'Good. Camilla, I'm taking you to the Principal's office and calling your mothers!'

That afternoon, Ellie stands up in Glee. 'Mr. Schue? I have an idea that suits this year's whole-competition theme of 'My Parents' Music'. May I?'  
'Of course, Ellie.'  
She comes up to the mic, handing the band their sheet music.  
'I'm in love, alri-i-i-ight  
With my crazy, beautiful life  
With the parties, the disasters  
With my friends, all pretty and plastered

Every night we're down to go out  
Waking up on a different couch  
'Til the next night, on the next flight  
Yeah, I guess we're doing alright

Oh, oh, oh  
We're falling in love  
Oh, oh, oh  
'Til the sun's coming up  
Oh, oh, oh  
Just living the life  
Oh, oh, oh

Every single night we fight  
To get a little high on life  
To get a little something right  
Something real, at least we try to feel

Time after time  
Try dodging all the douche-bag guys  
Try trading all the wasted times  
For something real in this crazy life

I just hope some people see  
There's nothing that I'm trying to be  
Let me just stop all the shit talk  
I know I'm the new bitch on the block

I've been through my sketchy phases  
Been broke, been a shitty waitress  
But I'm not now, guess it worked out  
Got here by running my mouth

Oh, oh, oh  
We're falling in love  
Oh, oh, oh  
'Til the sun's coming up  
Oh, oh, oh  
Just living the life  
Oh, oh, oh

Every single night we fight  
To get a little high on life  
To get a little something right  
Something real, at least we try to feel

Time after time  
Try dodging all the douche-bag guys  
Try trading all the wasted times  
For something real in this crazy life

Every single night we...

Every single night we fight  
To get a little high on life  
To get a little something right  
Something real, at least we try to feel

Time after time  
Try dodging all the douche-bag guys  
Try trading all the wasted times  
For something real in this crazy life

Oh, oh, oh  
Oh, oh, oh  
Oh, oh, oh  
Oh, oh, oh...'  
The Glee club applauds, and Ellie basks in it, venomous smirk once more gracing her lips.


	6. Matt Part One

**Again, no reviews. Except one person. Who's reviewed twice. Thank you, dearest reviewer! Please, seriously, just review. Even if you just keyboard smash, or rub your butt on the keys and hit send! It still might get someone else to review, and then I'll get some feedback from a wider selection pool! On another note, more than twenty people from Scotland, Wales, and Britain have read this story. I love your collective of countries. Warnings: Sexual confusion, semi-non-con gentle kissing, references to teen drinking, references to sex, crude gesticulation, gratuitous swears, and unfair use of Avril Lavigne. **

Matt

Matthew Duval awoke Saturday morning to Ellie Berry sitting on a chair by his head, sipping from a teal mug and wearing a drapey grey sweater. 'You've got to go,' she says. 'My parents are back in an hour and I have to clean up. D'you wanna help?'  
'What? Erm...' He rubs his temples, trying to remember the night before.  
She offers him the mug. 'Coffee. Espresso.'  
'Thanks,' he says, chugging it back.  
'Anytime,' she replies.  
'So... I mean... Did we - ?'  
'We fucked, yeah. Here are your clothes. I asked that skinny chick to wash them downstairs; I figured you wouldn't want to walk around in puke stains.' She hands him a folded stack.  
'Thanks...' He gets out of her bed and pulls his clothes on, shameless. 'What happened last night?'  
'Well, I decided to throw a party, and so I texted my favourite party boy and together we got this thing kicking. You got seriously wasted, and then you started flirting with me. I thought, "What the hell? Why not?" and so I fucked you, and then you passed out 'cos you were, as I said, _crazy wasted_. Oh, and you played strip karaoke-off. You won, but you won by singing Sexy And I Know It and you took off your shirt to do so. It was kinda hot. And, surprisingly, for a guy who spends all his time fucking ass, you knew how to handle me pretty well.'  
He buries his head in his hands, then starts pacing, working his fingers through his blond curls. 'Shit. Shit! Fucking fuck, shit - oh, Jesus fuck, shit...'  
'You OK, Matts?' Ellie asks, looking genuinely concerned.  
'I... I'm gay. I'm gay, Ellie! How could I have... I mean, how did I... y'know?' He clenches his fists and bends his elbows, then pulling his arms back and pushing his hips forward, eyes wide and brow furrowed.  
'I dunno. You were really drunk.'  
'I gotta go.' He walks quickly out of her room and then runs down the stairs and out the back door.

Matt seems to sleepwalk into the Lima Bean, and only gets his coffee because the blonde barista, Laura, remembers his order. He stumbles back to a table by the window and slurps down his espresso. He sits there for hours, just staring out the window. Every once in a while, Laura replaces his cup if it gets cold or empties out.  
At nine p.m., she comes over and says, 'Look, Matt, we're closing now, so you've got to get out.'  
'Huh?' He blinks sleepily, turning to look up at her.  
'Can I call someone for you?' she asks, squeezing his shoulder.  
'Erm...'  
'OK, just go wait outside.'  
Matt blearily shuffles outside and stands there in the rain. A brown van drives past, splashing him with gutter water.  
He snaps to, blinking out of the semi-comatose state he'd spent the day in. He digs in his pants pocket for his iPhone, then dials.  
'Avery? I need you.'  
Within ten minutes, Avery's there in Gareth's car. 'You OK?'  
Matt drips dejectedly on the pavement, black button-down clinging to him like a sodden, partially-shed second skin. 'No,' he says pathetically.  
'Get in.'  
Matt steps in and lets Avery swaddle him up in a polar fleece blanket; he lies down in the backseat in fetal position, staring blankly at the back of his seat.  
'Come on. We're here,' Avery says, hoisting him out of the car.  
The two teenagers walk into the boarding houses and find their way to House 6. 'Martin, let me in!' Avery requests, knock on on his door.  
'It's past nine p.m. Sorry, buddy. you're stuck. No entry until six.'  
'You're a bastard, Martin.'  
'And you're not allowed in.'  
Avery sighs, bringing Matt next door to his own room. "Here we go, guy. C'mon.'  
He pulls the key out of Matt's pocket and unlocks the door.  
'Now, what happened?'  
They sit down by Matt's bed, Avery rubbing his back in an attempt to console him.  
'I... I... Ellie. I got drunk and I slept w-with Ellie!'  
'Wait, what? Y-you're straight?'  
'No. No, no, no, no. I am gay. I am as gay as the 4th of July, Liberace's ghost, paisley ruffled shirts, and bandanas in the back pocket!'  
'So, how did you... y'know?' He holds his hand flat, sideways, over his fly and whistles, turning it upright.  
'I have no idea. It's just... really confusing, y'know? I know I like boys, and I've never - ever - liked a girl before. Ever.'  
Avery frowned. 'What are you going to do?'  
'I dunno. I just... I wish there was a way that I could prove I'm gay.'  
'To who?'  
'I don't know. To Ellie?'  
'Dude, I doubt she cares. She's completely happy with a gay fellow Weekend Warrior.'  
'Yeah. She's thinks it's just because I was drunk.'  
'Fuck, man, maybe it was.' Avery gives his knee a squeeze, circling his thumb on the inside of his knee and lower thigh.  
'I wish I just knew. For sure. I wish this had never happened. I need to prove it to myself, Avery. I need to definitively know that I'm gay.'  
'Maybe I can help with that,' he murmurs, guiding Matt to face him and stroking his cheek.  
Matt barely has time to register shock before Avery kisses him. It's brief and gentle, almost tentative, as if Avery's not entirely sure of himself. He pulls back, and Matts eyes fall to his red, puffy lips, slightly wet and shining. Their foreheads rest against each other, and Avery is flushed, excited. His chest heaves. 'Wow...'  
'What the hell?' Matt whispers.  
'Erm...'  
'What the hell!?'  
'You said... I thought...'  
'I didn't mean that, Avery. I need you to go.'  
'But - '  
'You kissed me, and I didn't ask you to. I didn't want you to kiss me, and you did anyways, without my permission! I can't be around you right now!'  
'I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to - '  
'GET OUT!'  
'I was only trying to help!'  
'GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!'  
Avery runs, leaving Matt curled up on the floor, shouting wordlessly.

'Gareth!' Matt yells, pounding on his window.  
'What is it you require, my friend, at midnight?'  
'I slept with Ellie and then Avery kissed me to prove I'm gay and I yelled at him and I don't know what to do!'  
'Erm, what? Come in, you lunatic. Why are you at my window?'  
Matt complies, falling through the window and closing it again.  
'Now, slowly, tell me what happened.'  
Breathing in deeply, Matt begins. 'Last night, Ellie had a party, and so I went and got utterly smashed, and then I slept with her.'  
'What!? Ew!'  
'Shush, I know, I know! And so, I sort of went all comatose and Avery came and got me from the Lima Bean at closing and then he was in my room 'cos of his roommate's bonkers curfew, and then I said I wanted to prove to myself that I was gay, and then he kissed me.'  
'Oh. My. God.'  
'Shut up! And then I yelled at him because he did it without permission and then he ran out and I'm really confused about this whole mess.'  
'You yelled at him for kissing you when that was the obvious way to do what you wanted?'  
'...Yes.'  
'Was it overly... sexual?' Gareth shudders.  
'No, it was just sort of... gentle, man.'  
'Was it bad?'  
'No.'  
'You do realize that in his first week here, you told him you wanted him, right?'  
'Yes.'  
'You're a bastard, Matt.'  
'I know.'  
'I mean, really. You are a complete and total... Shit, I don't even know how to describe this!'  
'I know.'  
'Then stop saying it and do something!'  
'I don't know what to do! I came over here for your help!' Matt begins pacing, running his fingers through his hair at a furious pace.  
'Apologise. You bastard.'  
'Ah, you say that with so much love,' Matt says sarcastically. 'Now, really, what do I do?'  
Gareth purses his lips and raises both eyebrows.  
'Oh. Oh! You were being serious! Ha!' He slaps his thighs, laughing without sound. 'Now, how do I do it?'  
'Are you kidding me?'  
'I've never done anything like this before. I've never...'  
'Needed to apologise?'  
'Yeah. That.'  
'Bastard. OK, just, go say that you're sorry. Then go off instinct, do what feels like it'll make him happiest and most likely to forgive you.'  
'And this will work?'  
'Probably. Unless you did something on level with genocide. Or he's very, very stubborn.'  
'Oh, my God,' Matt groans, jogging in place before jumping out the first-storey window. Rather impressively, he lands on his hands, collapses in on himself, and rolls before popping up and running again.  
'Was that necessary?' Gareth yells, leaning out the window. 'The groundskeeper's going to slaughter me! He loved those begonias!'  
'Needs must, mon ami!'  
'Bastard!'

The next day, at noon exactly - when Avery wakes up every Sunday - Matt appears outside of his room with a guitar. He throws a small pebble at the window and wakes him up.  
Avery walks to the window, shaking off sleep, and opens it.  
'I'm sorry. I was a bastard, and I don't want to lose you. It was my fault, and what happened may have had a part in it, but it doesn't excuse what I did.'  
'Pretty speech, blondie,' Avery says drily. 'Now screw off, I'm busy.' He moves to close the window when Matt begins playing a beloved and familiar song.  
'I always needed time on my own  
I never thought I'd need you there when I cry  
And the days feel like years when I'm alone  
And the bed where you lie is made up on your side

When you walk away I count the steps that you take  
Do you see how much I need you right now

When you're gone  
The pieces of my heart are missing you  
When you're gone  
The face I came to know is missing too  
When you're gone  
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it OK  
I miss you

I've never felt this way before  
Everything that I do reminds me of you  
And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor  
And they smell just like you, I love the things that you do

When you walk away I count the steps that you take  
Do you see how much I need you right now

When you're gone  
The pieces of my heart are missing you  
When you're gone  
The face I came to know is missing too  
When you're gone  
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it OK  
I miss you

We were made for each other  
Out here forever  
I know we were, yeah  
All I ever wanted was for you to know  
Everything I'd do, I'd give my heart and soul  
I can hardly breathe I need to feel you here with me, yeah

When you're gone  
The pieces of my heart are missing you  
When you're gone  
The face I came to know is missing too  
When you're gone  
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it OK  
I miss you...'  
Avery sniffs. 'You're using Avril against me,' he chides jokingly. 'That's not very nice.'  
'Ha ha. Am I forgiven?' Matt replies earnestly, brown eyes stretched wide, pleading.  
'Yes, yes. Now, go. I need to shower.'  
Matt starts. 'Do I have - ?'  
'Yes. Now, scamper off, little rabbit.'

That night, Matt walks next door and waits, leaning up against it, indecisive.  
Martin, Avery's annoying roommate, pops out and whispers, 'Give me your keys, lover boy.' Louder: "Have fun without me, Avery. God knows, with me, you'll never get another chance.'  
Martin closes the door and walks away.  
Still undecided, Matt stares at the door, running his fingers through his hair.  
It opens; Avery's smile is practically a written invitation.  
'I liked it,' Matt blurts. 'A lot.'  
Avery pulls him in, gently, by the wrist, then wraps his arms around Matt's neck and leans up to kiss him.  
Matt responds with vigour, and kicks the door shut.


	7. Avery Part Two

**I GOTSES REVIEWS! MY PRECIOUS! Sorry about that; Golem and I have an arrangement. But, no, seriously, thank you all, every single one of you. You have made my freaking_ life _with that, and I don't even care how pathetic that is! So, I thank you all, each and every single one of you, for your reviews, because you are all unparallellably fantastic. To those of you wondering, "Hey, lady! You ship Klaine, but they haven't shown up yet! Their _kids _haven't shown up yet! What paradoxical tomfoolery is this?", ah-one, ah-two, ah-one-two-three-four! Disclaimer: This chapter contains annoying coupleyness, casual French, swears, seriously huge amounts of swears, suggested and referenced sexual stuff between two men - le gasp! Teh ghey buttsecks! - and suggested mental illnesses.**

Avery

After one annoying-roommate-free night and subsequent dalliance with someone you'd wanted for months, you'd be happy, wouldn't you? Avery, however, was not at all visibly so. He was quiet; his eyes were downcast; he picked at his food. He looked, for all intents and purposes, as if he was sliding into a deep, dark, hungry pit and was resigned to his fate.  
To those who knew him completely and utterly, his face was heartbreakingly sad.  
Matt struts past him in Biology, on his iPhone, chattering in a sickeningly sweet voice to someone named Oliver - or, as Matt called him, 'Ollie-Cat'.  
'I love you, too, Ollie-Cat. I have to go, Biology. Oh? I'd love you to _tutor_ me,' he purrs. His face practically screams 'Receiver Of Regular Sex', as if the innuendo-laden phone calls aren't enough. 'Bye, sweetie! Mw-mw-mw-_mwah!_' He ends the call and leans back, sighing contentedly. 'Ahh, _mes amis_, I am living the good life.'  
Avery purses his lips, scribbling furiously to capture the opening slide of notes and trying desperately to ignore Matt.  
His hand seems to be moving in slow motion. His head whips up, and as he looks around, so does everything else. He shakes his head to clear it and continues writing notes.

In fourth period English, as they read the scene in which Romeo and Juliet first clap eyes on one another, Avery begins to cry. It's silent. His tears trickle slowly down his cheeks, and fall in freeze-frame down to the table, splashing a million times slower than everything else.  
He wonders why nobody is commenting; he imagines that he is sequestered off from the rest of the world by a glass box. He wants to scream at them all: "_Notice! Notice_ that there's _something wrong!_ _Try_, you _pathetic little shitheads,_ to care about something other than your own _insignificant_ little lives and _help me!_"  
His silent trickles become inelegant, heaving, choking sobs, and the professor sends him to the Nurse. She sends him to his room for a lie-down, and he just stays there all day, not moving, staring blankly at the wall opposite him and finding it near impossible to get out of bed.  
'Hey, buddy,' Martin says, voice obnoxiously delicate in the way people's voices are when confronted with something they don't understand and don't wish to provoke, 'You OK? You missed lunch. And dinner.'  
'Oh. Hi, Martin. I, erm, I forgot.'  
'Ow, wow, OK. OK. So, I'm gonna go to sleep, now, so can you just, like, turn your back or something? I get mad freaked with people watching me in my sleep.'  
Avery closes his eyes.  
'Yeah. Because I asked for that, exactly.'

He continues the week in a fog - not eating because the food is tasteless, not going to class because the lessons are pointless, not going outside because it's always cloudy, no matter what Gareth says about the weather. Friday, Martin shows up at noon in their dorm and begins packing a small suitcase. 'Hey, buddy?' he says, once more in that irritating voice. 'It's Thanksgiving weekend. Everyone's got to go home except for the Internationals. You gotta pack.'  
'Oh. I forgot.'  
'Yeah. You've been forgetful... lately. Erm.'  
'Huh.' He doesn't move.  
'Come on, guy! You have to get out of bed! I can't leave until you do, the school's policy - '  
'What?'  
'I came in an hour ago. Get out of bed. My mom's showing up soon, and we live about ten miles North of here. If we want to get to Nana's in time, we have to leave at three. Start packing!'  
'I can't.'  
'Yes, you fucking can!' Martin is pushed to the breaking point. 'Now, do it!'  
'I can't get out of bed!'  
_'Then I will fucking make you!'_ Martin grabs Avery by the wrists and none-too-gently yanks him out of bed. 'Now, isn't that nice? Standing up for the first time in fucking days? Now. Pack.'  
'OK,' Avery mumbles, picking up a dirty pair of boxers from the floor and crumpling them methodically into a ball. He follows sit with a grey T-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans only worn once since their last washing, a black polar fleece, a white wifebeater, a pair of Army Surplus Store camp cargo pants, a pair of tightie-whities, and two pairs of sweat socks, then shoves them all into a blue backpack. He dumps in deodorant, a razor, a comb, and a bottle of shampoo, then walks out to wait for Sebastian and Dave to pick him up.  
In six hours, they arrive later than Martin's mom. 'Oh, sweetheart,' Sebastian sighs, looking him over, 'Don't they feed you? You look unwell.'  
'I've been sick, in bed, for most of the week.'  
'Oh, my baby,' Sebastian groans, hugging his, quite frankly, homeless-smelling son as tightly as possible. 'Get in and lie down; Lily stayed back to make soup.'  
'She's making soup?'

Lily rushes to the door when they arrive, opening it just before Dave can unlock the door. 'Hi, Avery. Oh, wow. Are you alright?'  
'I've been sick all week. I'll be fine.'  
'I made beef, mushroom, lentil, and brown rice soup with a heavy cream base and whole grain sprouted sourdough rolls. Should help you recover.' She gives him a hug, not even minding the smell.  
'Avy's back, Avy's back!' Atticus yells, zooming into the room and clinging to Avery's shins. 'Yay!'  
Avery bends down and scoops him up, hugging his little brother ferociously. 'I love you, little guy,' he mumbles, hoisting Atticus up higher.  
Avery carries his little brother to the table and listens to him chatter on about everything that's happened since September, the happy babbling temporarily soothing him.  
'This soup is really good,' he mumbles through a mouthful during a lull in the conversation.  
'Thank you,' Lily says. Her sweet airy voice, like angel food cake or an excellent meringue, is suddenly the most annoying possible sound, like a mosquito whining in his ear while a TV hisses static and a refrigerator turns on and off.  
'Why's your soup different?'  
'Oh! I wanted to test a Thanksgiving recipe out, but I didn't want to bother you all with it in case it turned out badly the first time.' She smiles, and it's her same sweet, slightly open-mouthed, two-front-teeth-baring smile, but he finds it - well, _bothersome_ is the most polite way to say it.  
'What's the recipe?' Sebastian asks.  
'Well, there are two,' she replies, leaving the table momentarily. 'This was butternut squash and pear,' she raises her small, opaque, white porcelain bowl before beginning to wash it out. She runs the tap and quietly scrapes a thick dark orange soup into the sink. 'Quite tasty. I'm really rather pleased. And then, there's cream of pumpkin. Here, all of you, have a taste,' she says, putting the spoon she used to taste it in the sink and quickly scrubs it clean before handing everyone a big spoon, slightly larger than a tablespoon. Everyone takes a bite, and when the bowl returns to Lily, it's got a tiny puddle at the bottom - impossible to get.  
Everyone is smiling and laughing at dinner - Atticus' laugh is raucous and explosive; Dave's a throaty chuckle; Sebastian's an ungraceful snicker-snort; Lily's as bright and bubbly as champagne. Avery's attempts feel wooden, as if the muscles he used to smile have turned to lead.  
Everyone goes to their room after dinner and washing up. Dave and Sebastian kiss their kids on the forehead before rushing off; Lily stays to wash up the kitchen, but kisses Avery's cheek and bids him goodnight; Atticus clings to him, koala-style, and hugs him tightly until they reach his room. 'I love you, Avy.'  
'Love you, too, Ticky. Nighty-night.'  
'Nighty-night.'  
Avery lies in his bed, listening to the sounds of his family at night - a faint squeaking thump, assumably his dads; light snores and rustling from his little brother; and the whirring of an exercise machine from his sister. Sleep eludes him, but he can't even move to put the pillow over his head. He slowly, oh, so slowly, pulls his sleeping pills out and uncaps the bottle, deliberating. After staring at the orange plastic bottle for quite some time, he pulls one out and dry-swallows. His mind is slowly wrapped in cotton-wool, and he falls asleep.

Avery wakes up at noon the next day and attempts a shower. He quickly scrubs his hair once, then his underarms and feet, then jumps out of the shower, terrified of the fast-falling droplets.  
Never having learnt to swim, Avery had developed a fear of water early on. Now, this fear was magnified, paralyzing. That short shower felt like torture.  
He dresses in the cargo pants and wifebeater, bare feet slapping against the honey hardwood floors. He enters the kitchen and sees Lily and Sebastian hard at work, whipping up pies and sides and soups and a basil, rosemary, and lemon turkey flawlessly.  
'Hi, sweetheart. Nice to see you looking better,' Sebastian says, kissing his forehead and hugging him briefly.  
'Bit wrinkled, those,' Lily comments. 'Very war zone accurate.'  
Avery grunts, nodding, and wands into the living room where Atticus is gleefully watching Adventure Time and eating a fresh, hot piece of gingerbread. 'Hiya, Avy! Papa and Lily had extra dough from the gingerbread crust pumpkin pie, so they made me cookies! Want some?'  
Unable to resist his little brother, Avery takes one off the sky-blue plate, biting into it gingerly. It feels like sand and tastes like dust. He fakes a smile, again feeling like the muscles are lead, and swallows harshly.  
Atticus climbs into his lap and snuggles against him, seven-year-old enthusiasm and energy failing to significantly brighten Avery's spirits. Regardless, Avery wraps an arm around his belly and holds him close, resting his chin on Atticus' dark, curly head.  
Without him noticing, Dave gets home and Thanksgiving dinner is finished. 'Avery,' Lily lilts dreamily, gently brushing her fingers over his bare shoulder, 'Dinner's here.'  
He sets Atticus down, but still holds his hand. He looks around, confused, searching for the dining room. Once more, Lily appears, white organza dress hiding her twiggy legs and most of her arms, this time extending a hand to guide. She is calm, gentle, patient - a zoologist helping a wounded, feral beast find its way home. He takes her hand, hoping that she doesn't see him that way, and follows her to the table.  
Dinner is once more a happy affair, but Lily looks at him worriedly from time to time, distractedly shoving her cut up bits of turkey around on her plate, chewing on the same piece of zucchini she put in her mouth at the beginning of the meal.  
He bites into the paper-flavoured drumstick, then the packing-peanut sweet potatoes, the wet-dust soup, the sandy sweet peas. Round and round, flavourless bite after flavourless bite. When dinner finishes, he goes straight to bed, bypassing the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  
He takes another pill, and contemplates just finishing the bottle off - there are only a couple dozen left of the two-hundred and forty it originally contained. He falls asleep before he can decide.

Sunday, he wakes up at one p.m. He takes off yesterday's clothes and wads them up; applies deodorant to his underarms, backs-of-knees, and upper inner-thighs; dresses in the grey T-shirt and black jeans; and crams his things back into his bag.  
Lily hands him a plate of fresh pumpkin pancakes with ginger, cinnamon, and brown sugar dusted over the top and a mug of hot apple cider the second he passes the kitchen. 'I saved you some from breakfast. You've said they're your favourite.'  
'Yeah. Thanks,' he mumbles, stuffing one in his mouth. It feels and tastes like paper covered in sand. He takes a hearty gulp of apple cider and tastes faintly metallic tap water. He tries for a leaden smile. 'Thanks.'  
'D'you want me to drive you to therapy?'  
'Erm...'  
'Only, I've got nothing to do, and Daddy said to bring her some pie 'cos he's thankful for her help when he was a teenager.'  
'Yeah. OK.'  
'Oh, wow. Great.' She smiles and they walk to the car and drive.

'Hello, Avery,' says Dr. Philibuster. 'How are you?'  
He remains silent.  
'Are you alright?'  
'Ehn.'  
'Please, Avery, be honest with me. I am here to help you.'  
'I'm shit.'  
'What?'  
'_I am shit_. I am _made of_ shit. _My life_ is shit. I get _treated_ like shit. I _treat people_ like shit. _Everything_ is shit. And _I don't give a shit_.'  
'Oh, dear.' She reaches a wrinkled, papery hand out and rests it on his knee. 'Avery, it is very important that you know this: you are a normal teenaged boy who is very, very sad, and is incapable of preventing this sadness. You are not, however, shit or made of shit. Your family loves you - why else would they want to help you manage your depression? You've always come across, at least to me, as a charming, pleasant, somewhat overburdened young man, but no matter how angry you get, you have never treated me like shit. You go to a wonderful school, you have lovely friends and family, and you have excellent physical health. And, Avery, my dear - ' she leans in and throws him a conspiratorial wink ' - you wouldn't have told me that if you didn't care.'


	8. Matt Part Two

**Wowie-zowie! This is the serious second cycle of characters here - the second go-round. I mean, wow. This is actually seriously proud-making. I feel like this story is my baby, and it's going to middle school - stupid roll-y backpack and khaki uniform and braids that it did itself, bless it's little fictitious heart! Anyways, I'm so thankful to all of you reviewers, and I'm really honored that you've all spent the time to read this little misadventure and still had the time to tell it after that it's pretty. You're all fantastic, and I hope to keep seeing you in my inbox. This chapter contains some emotional maturity, vaguely sexual kissing, mentions of cheating, mentions of sexytimes between two very pretty boys(don't pretend like you don't love it, even if I am a massive cockblock and never write any explicit stuffs), freshmen stupidity, and abuse of acoustic guitar and serenade. **

Matt

'Hello, gorgeous,' coos a short, muscular brunet with sparkling blue eyes, leaning up to kiss Matt, the gentle peck soon becoming deep and passionate.  
'Hello, beautiful,' he replies, setting down their coffees. 'I've missed you!'  
'Aww, Matty!' Oliver squeals, kissing him again. 'You're such a sweetheart.'  
The two of them sip their coffees and chat lightly, kissing frequently.  
'So, competition season's coming up,' Oliver says, looking at Matt apprehensively. 'Can you handle my club beating yours for the twentieth consecutive year?'  
'Only if you promise you can take being brutally beaten by the Warblers,' Matt says, jokingly wincing.  
'Ohh! I wish you could join the New Directions.' A quiet sip. 'You'd sound so great with us, and I wouldn't have to worry about beating you.'  
'You'd be better in the Warblers, you know. Plus, no annoying Ellie drama, no more Ellie stealing your solos...'  
'Tempting, my sweet, but alas, I cannot abandon my beloved team.'  
'So dramatic.'  
'So pretentious.'  
Matt leans across the table and kisses Oliver. The kiss quickly becomes flammably passionate, and Matt moans lowly, _'Avery...'_  
'What?' Oliver squeaks, pulling sharply back.  
'I don't know what that was. I swear to you, honey, he's just a friend. I am not cheating on you; I would never.'  
'I know, baby, I trust you.'  
'He kissed me, once, but it was before we knew each other, and I put an end to it.'  
'What was it... like?' Oliver looks like a wounded puppy.  
'Like, erm...' He gently holds Oliver's chin and kisses him briefly, the barest brush of contact.  
'Huh..._ Memorable_,' he cracks.  
'I honestly have no idea what that was, Ollie-Cat.'  
'Maybe you have... _feelings_ for him.'  
'What? No. I love you, you know that.'  
'That doesn't mean you don't like Avery. I want you to be happy, Matty.' Oliver stands, gently squeezing Matt's hand. 'If Avery makes you happy, be with him. If he doesn't, call me up. I'd happily be with you - '  
'Then - '  
' - once you've found everything out.'

'Gareth, man, what do I do?' Matt fumes, pacing and raking his fingers through his hair.  
'Why do you always approach the _asexual_ man for relationship advice?' Gareth asks, amused and exasperated in equal measure.  
'I mean, Ollie's great, and he's funny and smart and sweet and gorgeous and a fucking_ bomb_ in bed - '  
_'Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala la...'_  
'But I said Avery's name, I _moaned_ it, when we were kissing! And now, I keep seeing him in my sleep and I keep picturing him - '  
'Ew!_ Enough!_ I am not interested, at all, in your creepy sex... stuff!'  
'Not like that! He just won't get out of my head, man! What do I do?'  
'I don't know, I'm not a relationship guru!'  
'You fixed us before - '  
'There's your answer.'  
'What?'  
'Tell me about your date with Ollie again?'  
'Ollie met me at the Lima Bean and he kissed me and drank coffee and talked.'  
'Last Thursday, you and Avery went to the Lima Bean without me. Describe.'  
'We ordered our drinks and then we sat and talked about the Warblers and our families and our favourite music, and it got really cold and his jacket blew away so I lent him my coat, and we drove back.'  
'There you go.'  
'What?'  
'You refer to yourself and Ollie as "he and I", but to you and Avery as "we". Your descriptions of both coffee dates were completely different - with Ollie, it was sort of dry and boring; with Avery, it was cute and romantic.'  
'Wow.'  
'Thank you.'  
'You are a _total_ preteen girl!'  
'Go away.'  
'Never.'  
Gareth looks at his watch and counts seconds aloud: 'Five, four, three, two, one - '  
'Oh, my God, I love him! I gotta go!'  
Matt dashes away, leaving Gareth with an evil mastermind's grin on his face.

"Where is Matt? He's our soloist!' gripes one council member, glaring daggers directly at Gareth.  
'What have I done?'  
'You're friends with him! You ought to know these things!'  
'What things?'  
'Where he is at all times!'  
'I'm his friend, not his stalker!'  
The doors burst open, and Matt, aided once more by his acoustic, begins to sing.  
'Ohh ohh...

When the visions around you,  
Bring tears to your eyes  
And all that surround you,  
Are secrets and lies  
I'll be your strength,  
I'll give you hope,  
Keeping your faith when it's gone  
The one you should call,  
Was standing here all along..

And I will take  
You in my arms  
And hold you right where you belong  
Till the day my life is through  
This I promise you  
This I promise you

I've loved you forever,  
In lifetimes before  
And I promise you never...  
Will you hurt anymore  
I give you my word  
I give you my heart  
This is a battle we've won  
And with this vow,  
Forever has now begun...

Just close your eyes  
Each loving day  
I know this feeling won't go away  
Till the day my life is through  
This I promise you..  
This I promise you..

Over and over I fall  
When I hear you call  
Without you in my life baby  
I just wouldn't be living at all...

And I will take  
You in my arms  
And hold you right where you belong  
Till the day my life is through  
This I promise you baby

Just close your eyes  
Each loving day  
I know this feeling won't go away  
Every word I say is true  
This I promise you

Every word I say is true  
This I promise you  
Ooh, I promise you...'  
A freshman claps and is immediately shut down by another freshman slapping the back of his head and covering his mouth.  
'Avery,' Matt begins, 'I mean it. I love you. I love you... so, so much, it confuses me sometimes. I just know that I'm not happy unless you're with me, and that I can't get you out of my head. I want you, all the time, and I just need to know that you feel the same.'


	9. Ellie Part Two

**So! Ellie's back, that bitch. I've gotten some specific responses based around Ellie; you seem to have quite an interest. Here she is, once more. Enjoy! Also, if you squint, an awkward ginger appears.  
Warnings include: Swearing, underaged drinking, underaged drug use, teenage sexual encounters, referenced gay and lesbian relationships, vandalism, destruction of property, abuse of police authority, and abuse of police officers.**

Ellie

Smiling wolfishly at the top of the stairs, Ellie surveys the beautiful chaos. Every single dancing drunken person pulsates and glows with colour and light and life, and everything is utterly gorgeous. She dizzily walks through the gyrating mass of bodies, feeling the pill under her tongue kick in, and looks for a familiar face. Camilla and her skinny blonde friend are hanging off by the side; Matt and Avery are kissing and groping frantically up against the wall. For a moment, they look, to her, like two octopi tied in a complex series of knots.  
Briefly, she giggles.  
A harried, acne-laden teenager in a catering uniform carries a tray of Jello shots with LED lights in the bottom of the glass. She scoops up a handful, chugging them back in rapid succession, and drops the shot glasses. They shatter, little glowing fragments of glass still flickering through the spectrum. She wobbles on her leopard-print ten-inch heels, using fellow partiers as supports. One turns, catching her in its brilliant green eyes. 'Hello, sexy,' she purrs, stroking one hand from his shoulder to his fly. 'I'm going to take you upstairs and fuck you. Is that OK?''  
He scopes out her body with his green laser-beam eyes, then blows air out of his scaly fish lips. They form bubbles, and when the bubbles pop, she hears him say, 'Not a problem.'  
She runs up the stairs in slow motion, jogging through water after the sexy fish boy. She watches over his shoulder, fascinated, as her hands turn into fins. She becomes a fish as well, and they float through the door. He lays her down on a bed of sand, and swims in short, quick strokes against her belly. Soon, he collapses, coating her belly in slimy bubbles, leaving Ellie the Angelfish to swim away, dancing in the breaking waves and dappled in moonlight.  
Ellie swims to the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. Bubbles rush out of her mouth in a frothy explosion, blocking her eyes from the sight of her reflection. In the mirror, only seconds ago, she saw a pretty brunette girl with black makeup streaked halfway down her cheeks, seaweed tangled into her long, dark hair, and the bloated, bluish body of a drowning victim.  
Ellie swims frantically to the toilet and vomits. Like a water balloon bursting, everything splashes back to normal, and she throws up twice more before she can stand up to rinse vomit off of her hair. 'Disgusting,' she laughs, twirling out of the bathroom.  
Back on the ground floor, Ellie searches for Steve. Upon finding him, she says, 'I want more!'  
'Here,' he says, offering a bundle of baggies.  
She lunges for it.  
'Three-hundred for half, six-fifty for the whole kit.'  
'I thought I was your favourite customer,' she pouts.  
'You are,' he replies oilily, 'That's why you're getting half-off.'  
Ellie pays him grudgingly and snatches the bundle. Eagerly, she picks three smooth, green-speckled, triangular pills with the letter Z emblazoned in the middle and gulps them down with a vodka shot.  
She leans against the wall breathing deeply and letting the nausea pass. When she opens her eyes, everything is shaky, fractured, distorted, filled with a haunting kind of beauty.  
Suddenly, she's outside the 7-11 two blocks from school. She hands a stoner a twenty for his spray paint, then runs off, world tilting rabidly.  
Suddenly, she's spray-painting the lockers rainbow, running back and forth with different cans pointed at each wall of lockers. She trips and falls, then slowly rights herself. On her knees, she slowly tries to paint a self-portrait, but it comes out funny. She looks angry and mean, nothing like the real Ellie.  
Suddenly, she's being spoken to softly by the guidance counselor. 'I know teen years can be tough... will go on permanent record... won't call your parents... were good kids... by my office... brochure...'  
Suddenly, Ellie's up on the drainage pipe by her window, climbing in. She laughs and spins, taking off her clothes and going to bed.

Ellie wakes up in her own bed in two hours, showers, gets dressed, and gets ready in her usual fashion. She drives to school and gets out, walking to class.  
Until lunch, the day is uneventful. Frustrated and bored, she decides to smoke. She selects a long, thick cigarette from one of Steve's baggies and lights it up. With a relaxed sigh, she exhales the first drag. She keeps smoking until the cigarette is almost gone, listening to The Beatles, crooning along.  
'Ahem?'  
'Hey, friend! How are you?'  
'I am very angry. I am very disappointed with you.'  
'Ohh, here! Have some! You'll feel so much better...' She holds the last drag out to the speaker, smiling sunnily.  
'I am calling the police.'

'So, Ms. Berry,' says the officer, hands placed firmly on the table with a resounding thud. 'You've been caught smoking marijuanna on school grounds. This, Ms. Berry, puts you in a position to be cited for underage use and possession of drug paraphernalia.'  
'I'm hungry,' she giggles, tapping her lower lip.  
'There's a jar of suckers on the front desk. I'll have Mitch get you one.' The officer leans out and shouts, 'Mitch! Get her a sucker!'  
'What flavour?'  
'Erm, what flavour?'  
'Grape.'  
'Grape, Mitch!'  
'What's your name, Officer?'  
'Patrick. Patrick Wells.'  
'Ahh! Nice. Now, Patrick,' she says, smiling her usual vicious smile. 'You can call me Ellie.'  
'Ms. Berry - '  
'Ellie.'  
'Alright, Ellie. We'll have to call your parents, and this will go on your record - '  
'Here's her sucker,' says Mitch, handing it to Patrick through the door.  
'Thanks, Mitch,' Patrick says, taking the sucker and closing the door. He hands it to Ellie, who starts sucking on it suggestively.  
'This will go on your record, but it'll be expunged in two years when you turn eighteen. Erm, why are you doing that?' he asks, eyebrow cocked.  
Ellie looks him dead in the eye, puts down her sucker, and climbs across the table, sitting flush against him, bracing her knees against his sides. 'Is there nothing else I can do?' she asks, petting his chest.  
'Erm, I dunno - '  
'How about I do you a little favour?' she purrs. 'And then you don't put this on my record or call my parents.'  
'Alright then,' Patrick replies, moving away to lock the doors and close the blinds.  
Ellie smiles, victorious, and lies back on the table.

'So, I brought a friend here today,' Camilla says coyly, hands clasped behind her back, rocking back and forth on her heels, 'To help me sing a very special song to a very special friend of ours. I give you, Lily Smythe-Karofsky of Vocal Adrenaline singing Alfie.'  
'Oh, dearie me,' she sings, mock-contemplatively tapping her chin.  
'My little brother's in his bedroom smoking weed,  
I tell him he should get up cos it's nearly half past three  
He can't be bothered cos he's high on THC.  
I ask him very nicely if he'd like a cup of tea,  
I can't even see him cos the room is so smoky,  
Don't understand how one can watch so much TV,  
My baby brother Alfie how I wish that you could see.

I only say it cos I care,  
So please can you stop pulling my hair.  
Now, now there's no need to swear,' she tuts, wagging a finger at Ellie, who grows more enraged by the second.  
'Please don't despair my dear Mon frere.

Oh, Alfie get up it's a brand new day,  
I just can't sit back and watch you waste your life away  
You need to get a job because the bills need to get paid.  
Get off your lazy arse,  
Alfie please use your brain  
Surely there's some walls out there that you can go and spray,  
I'm feeling guilty here for leading you astray,  
Now how the hell do you ever expect that you'll get laid,  
When all you do is stay in playing your computer games?

I only say it cos I care,  
So please can you stop pulling my hair.  
Now, now there's no need to swear,  
Please don't despair my dear Mon frere.

Oh little brother please refrain from doing that,  
I'm trying to help you out so can you stop being a twat.  
It's time that you and I sat down and had a little chat,  
And look me in the eyes take off that stupid fitted cap.

I only say it cos I care,  
So please can you stop pulling my hair.  
Now, now there's no need to swear,  
Please don't despair my dear Mon frere.

Please don't despair  
Please don't despair  
Mon frère!' On the last beat, she bends at the hips and kisses Ellie on the cheek.  
Ellie grabs her bag and storms off. Stifled laughter breaks free once she closes the door.


	10. Ollie

**And thus, he arrives! A CHILD HAS BEEN BORN UNTO THOSE KNOWN AS KLAINE! So, yes, here he is. His very own chapter. We all feel bad for Ollie-cat, don't we, with his dumping and such the like, but this one's a bit more insight into his character. ENJOY!**

**I'm not so certain of him - his characterization and his actions are a little foreign for me. I feel like a tourist who's forgotten their guidebook and can't speak the language and lost their shoe, and it's a thousand degrees and I'm walking on blacktop. It's horrible trying to write him, so please be gentle. **

**Disclaimer: This chapter contains slight dub/con in the form of a kiss, allusions to gay sex, allusions to an m/m/m threesome, swearing, underaged drinking, teen partying, cancer-related complications, and traffic law violations.**

Oliver

He rereads the text that Matt sent him. His heart roars in his ears; under his skin, an urge to wreck things, to ruin and burn and rise from the ashes, bubbles.

_i'll always have a special place 4 u in my 3, but i love avery. Thnx 4 letting me go_

'Cam, pick up,' he whispers. 'I need my friend right now, OK? He decided Avery was more important than me, and I know I gave him the choice but I never thought he'd take it! Call me back. I'm going to do something crazy, Cams.'  
He throws down his phone and swipes on black eyeliner. He examines his reflection, smoothing down his white skinny jeans so they perfectly cling to his ass and tugging his deep merlot tank top down so it exposes his collar-bone. He pulls on a dove grey suit jacket and black bike gloves, then shoves his feet into his black low-top Converse and sneaks out the door. As he gets into his car and starts the engine, he puts on a white fedora, sliding his pinched fingers around the brim and grinning in a cat-like way.  
Scandals, still standing after twenty years, opens its doors to a second-generation customer. Oliver seems to prowl around the dance floor, looking for someone to pounce upon. He finds a shirt, dark-haired, vaguely familiar boy and, just as a crowd-wide seductive manouvre, kisses him quite thoroughly. Once he's received a satisfactory number of wolf-whistles and hungry stares, he turns and saunters into the centre of the dance floor. He's soon got one man to his back and one grinding against his front. His birth mother having been picked for her resemblance to Kurt, and Blaine being his biological father, Oliver has the genes for a strange, haunting sort of beauty that draws people in. Magnetism. He attracts who and what he wants to at the drop of a hat.  
Which is why, in a matter of seconds, he's pressed between his two dance partners, relishing in his own capability of seducing not one, but two gorgeous men in the mens' room, assured in his own worth - trying far too hard not to miss Matt.

'You're a dick, Oliver,' Camilla says, flicking Oliver on the bridge of his nose. 'You scared me! That phone call, and then nothing? I was worried! Thought you'd gotten, I dunno, shot or something. Gone into a sex coma or something.'  
They pause, and then she laughs. 'As if! You virginal goddess, you.'  
'Erm, yeah... I'm not so, er...' He bites his lip, looking to the side. 'Virginal.'  
She giggles again. 'No. You're kidding me!'  
Nothing.  
'You're not - Oliver? You punched your V-card?'  
'On both sides.'  
'Ohh! You hound! That's disgusti - ohh, that is incredible! I'm stuck dreaming about it and look at me! I'm a freakin' sexpot!'  
Another silent beat, Oliver hip checking Camilla affectionately.  
'How was it?' she asks, grinning.

'Why should I?' Ellie asks, licking a grape sucker with a purple tongue.  
'Come on, little virgin Ollie lost his V-card in a wicked double-punch. That totally deserves a party!'  
'Why should I use my police immunity to shower you ingrates with booze and pills and sexual opportunities?' Ellie presses the white plastic stick to Camilla's forehead by the remaining bit of purple, sugary gook. She grins, purple tongue hidden.  
'What d'you want?'  
'I want you to lick my boots.'  
'What?' Camilla jerks back, tipping over her chair in the process.  
'Lick. My. Boots. Submission is inevitable, dear. Surely you knew that. Lick now, or no party.'  
Oliver pleads her. 'I need this, Cammie! I just want to forget that Matt dumped me for some prep-school dick.'  
'You're inhuman,' Callie says. "I do this because you begged, Ollie. I will hate you forever if that was a lie.'  
She kneels.

'I hate you,' Camilla says, holding a red SOLO cup a titchy bit too tightly. 'This party sucks and I hate you. Morgie can't even be here.'  
'I needed this, OK? I'm sorry.'  
Camilla softens, then wraps him up in a hug. 'I'm sorry, baby. I'm just bitching. You deserve a happy night.'  
'OK.'  
'Yes, it is OK. Now, go. This is a party! You shouldn't be spending it with a cranky old bitch.' She smiles, letting him know she's fine, and he walks off.  
Once more, he's looking for something to fill the void. He keeps hearing his little sister's voice say, "You don't need stupid Matt to be happy, Olllie!", and is struck dumb by the urge to smack her. He loves Pippa. He'd never do that to her.  
He shakes away these thoughts and grabs his third drink of the night. In the process, he sees The Guy.  
Mr. Prep School Man-Thief. Him in his stupid emo/metal/punk/"I'm too angry to figure out its musical origin" shirt and skin-tight red jeans, with his stupid black hair being stupid and curly and him just being pretty. He's smaller than Oliver is, and pretty, and he has this sort of melancholy delicateness. He looks like a sad china doll, and it's strangely appealing to Oliver. Of course, he then remembers Matt leaving him for this sad little Hummel figurine of a boy and storms up, growling. 'How will he like finding out, I wonder?' Oliver slurs, grabbing sad-dolly-boy and kissing him harshly. There's too much tooth-to-lip contact, and Prep School is pushing him away rather than pulling him in like he should, but Oliver pulls back and apologises. 'Thanks.'  
Within minutes, he has a boy following him to the bedroom and Prep School's eyes stabbing his back.

Oliver sneaks back in that night around eleven, aching gently, pleasantly, and hears loud, hacking coughs from his sister's room.  
'Sweetie, can you come down here? I need you to start the car while I get Pippa,' calls Blaine.  
'OK, Dad, I'm coming!'  
Automatically, Oliver feels a rush of guilt - so what if his relationship ended, or if he's being a slut to deal with it? His little sister is dying of lung cancer, and based if if his Dad's panicked tone of voice, she's just come out of remission.  
Blaine ducks into the car and lies Pippa down in the back seat, her ginger head resting in his lap and blood dripping down his chin. 'Oliver, call Papa. He needs to be here.'  
'Call Kurt,' Oliver commands the car in what he hopes is a clear, calm voice. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Thr -  
'Hello? What's going on? Is everyone OK?' That's the incredible thing about Oliver's Papa - no matter how worried he is about a specific person, he never ignores anyone else's needs.  
'Dad's fine, I'm fine, Pippa's... not. I don't know what happened, Dad yelled and I started the car and we're driving to the hospital.'  
'The monitor in her room... She was coughing, so I went to check on her, and she was coughing blood, Kurt.'  
'Oh, god. How far are you from the hospital?'  
'Maybe a mile, mile and a half?'  
'Double the speed limit and weave.'  
Oliver complies, zooming through traffic. about a half-mile from the hospital, a cop stops them. 'You were driving at a hundred and six point five miles per hour. The speed limit is forty-five. Explain.'  
'My little sister's in the back seat. She's got lung cancer and she's coughing up blood. I called my Papa - '  
'That's not your Papa?'  
'That's my Dad - and he said to double the speed limit and weave. I didn't hit anyone, I swear. Please, she could be dying!'  
'Go, go!'  
They rip through the last half mile and into the ER. Dr. Johannsen rushes them through. 'OK, this is a normal symptom among lung cancer patients, but it does require an invasive procedure to fix, so you three are going to have to wait outside.'  
Kurt, who was standing in the corner, kisses Pippa on the forehead and wipes the blood off of her pointed little chin before exiting the room. 'Oh, god, Blaine!' he sobs, collapsing into the shorter man's chest and breaking down. 'What if this is it?'  
'It can't be,' Oliver whispers. 'It just can't.'


	11. Cam Part Two

**I realize that it's been a while. I meant to update every week, but things and stuff and nonsense got in the way. There's no real excuse, because I have no homework and basically no life, so I promise that I'll update. Review and tell me what weekday you want new updates on - is it enough to brighten your Mondays; is it a Hump Day reward; or perhaps an end-of-the-week treat? **

**Warnings include: Improper approach to confronting someone suspected of having an eating disorder, swearing, emotional idiocy, and gory night terrors with a healthy side of self-loathing.**

* * *

Camilla

'Hiya, Lily!' Camilla grins, hugging the minuscule blonde. She feels her ribcage, like suturing needles, curved and eerily prominent; and her spine, knobby and sharp, the spikes up a dinosaur's back.  
Lily sinks into the hug, relaxing, and her bones poke out even further. 'It's great to see you, Cams.' She hops up on her tip-toes and kisses Camilla on the cheek. 'So, what lovely surprise have you got planned?'  
'I was thinking dinner and a film. I've got some stuff in the oven back home. Gotta put some meat on those birdie-bones of yours,' Camilla snickers, poking Lily's ribs through her dress.  
Lily stiffens in Cam's arms, pulling into herself. 'I'm not hungry. You shouldn't've gone to the trouble.'  
'No trouble, Lils. You need a decent meal.' Camilla starts walking towards Sugar's car. 'Well? Are you coming?'  
'I just need a minute. I'm not going to have much of your dinner, you realize. I'm not hungry. I can't eat much.' Lily looks up at Camilla, eyes wide and scared to shit.  
'When was the last time you ate something? Hmm?' Camilla walks back, towering over Lily. 'Yesterday? The day before? Last week?'  
Lily shrinks away. 'Please, Cams, just leave it.'  
'When? When did you last eat, Lils? Two weeks, three, a month, a year? I'm worrying about you! Can't you see what this is doing to me?' Camilla shouts.  
'Can't you see this isn't about you?' Lily screams back. She squeaks, clapping her hands over her mouth as if to shove the words back in. 'I've got to go. Good-night, Cams.'  
Camilla slams the car door behind her, angry, and peals away, watching Lily's tiny pale frame disappear down the road in the darkness, white twiggy legs fluttering in and out of sight behind her white dress.

'Y'know what's great, Ollie, about not going to the same school as Lily?' Camilla gripes, tugging her green plaid flannel shirt tighter around her. 'I don't have to see her stupid, hates-herself face every fucking day.'  
'I thought you loved her or something,' Oliver responds. 'Why are you dressed like a stereotypical lesbian?'  
'The clothes are comfy, alright?' Camilla runs her hands through her hair. 'I loved her. But she doesn't get how much it hurts to see her hurting herself like that. I think we're over, y'know? It's just too complicated with her right now.'  
'Fucking _weak_, Cammy,' he sighs.  
'What?'  
'You say you love her, you get _beat up_ for her, you start shit with _Ellie_ for her, and then you _break up with her because she won't eat?_ Fucking _weak!_' He stands up, shaking his head.  
'Ex_cuse_ me? She's the one who _walked away_ from me. I just wanted to _help_ her! _She_ left _me_, not the other way around. See you in Glee.' Camilla slides out of the booth and walks away.

Standing on top of the bleachers and spinning slowly on the balls of her feet, arms outstretched, Camilla pictures Lily, and the dancing way she walks, and the way her teeth stick out when she smiles, and notes tumble out from behind her tongue.  
'Da Da Da Da  
The smell of your skin lingers on me now  
You're probably on your flight back to your home town  
I need some shelter of my own protection baby  
To be with myself and center, clarity  
Peace, Serenity

I hope you know, I hope you know  
That this has nothing to do with you  
It's personal, myself and I  
We've got some straightenin' out to do  
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket  
But I've got to get a move on with my life  
It's time to be a big girl now  
And big girls don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't cry

The path that I'm walking  
I must go alone  
I must take the baby steps 'til I'm full grown, full grown  
Fairytales don't always have a happy ending, do they?  
And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay

I hope you know, I hope you know  
That this has nothing to do with you  
It's personal, myself and I  
We've got some straightenin' out to do  
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket  
But I've got to get a move on with my life  
It's time to be a big girl now  
And big girls don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't cry

Like the little school mate in the school yard  
We'll play jacks and uno cards  
I'll be your best friend and you'll be my Valentine  
Yes you can hold my hand if you want to  
'Cause I want to hold yours too  
We'll be playmates and lovers and share our secret worlds  
But it's time for me to go home  
It's getting late, dark outside  
I need to be with myself and center, clarity  
Peace, Serenity

I hope you know, I hope you know  
That this has nothing to do with you  
It's personal, myself and I  
We've got some straightenin' out to do  
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket  
But I've got to get a move on with my life  
It's time to be a big girl now  
And big girls don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't cry  
La Da Da Da Da Da...'  
She jumps down off the bleachers, shaking her head. 'Fucking weak is right.'  
She pulls her grey sweatshirt's hood over her head just as it starts to rain and gets into Sugar's car, knees up to her chest. 'Can you just drive? I want to go home.'

Thud.  
Camilla sits up, sobbing, and pulls herself up off the floor on shaky legs, reaching for her journal as her dream plays in her head over and over again.  
_Lily, lying dead in an alley, blood on her chin matching her lipstick. She sits up, arms shaking, and she whimpers, 'It's all your fault. Stay away! Your fault. All your fault.'_  
_Her stomach rips open, empty shells of organs falling out and shouting along with her, blood spraying, 'Stay away from me! You did this! It's all your fault! You did this! Stay away!'_  
_She falls back against the wall, too weak to support herself, and stops moving. Her words ricochet off the walls, 'Stay away, your fault,' over and over again._  
_Her blood soaks Camilla's shoes._  
She reaches over to her nightstand and grabs her phone, dialing shakily. 'I need to talk to Lily.'

* * *

**Thank you for your time, and I apologize if the night terror disturbed or triggered you. If it did, please inform me so that I may better label and warn against it in future chapters.**


	12. Lily Part Two

** Review and tell me what weekday you want new updates on - is it enough to brighten your Mondays; is it a Hump Day reward; or perhaps an end-of-the-week treat? **

**Warnings include: Anorexic thoughts and behaviours, pro-anorexic speech, swearing, underage drinking, abuse of caffeine, and referenced homosexual relationships. **

* * *

Lily

Twelve.  
She reads, smiling, that she has run twelve miles in forty-eight minutes, 36450 calories burnt.  
Lily turns off her treadmill and opens her white spiral-bound notebook, writing in the numbers. No calories eaten, zero, minus tread milling, 36450, equals -36450. Three days on empty. Satisfied, she slips on a white T-shirt and tights, stepping into her shoes and belting the shirt. She inspects her reflection in the mirror, the way the knotted web of the back of her shirt displays her spine and her shoulder blades, frowning at rolls of fat and bulging flesh between each woven strip of cloth visible to her eyes only.  
She charts her weight from that morning in the notebook, shaking her head. 'No way I'm sixty pounds,' she frowns, tucking the notebook into her suitcase and zipping it up, throwing on he mustard yellow trench coat and rolling to the door.  
'Daddy, Papa, are you ready to drive me? Only my plane leaves in three hours, and it's ages to get to the Columbus Airport, and I don't want to miss it!' she calls.  
'Lily-pop, you've got to call your stupid girlfriend. She keeps leaving really weepy messages on my phone at two in the fucking morning,' Avery groans. 'It's a pain in the-'  
'Shut up! Atticus can hear you!' Lily hisses. 'I don't want to talk to her. She doesn't even care about me. I'm not good enough for her. I just want to spend some time with my Mum, clear my head a bit, y'know?' She stands up on her toes and kisses his cheek. 'C'mere, Ticky! Give us a good-bye kiss.'  
Atticus shuffles forwards and lets himself be scooped up by Lily. Her arms tremble under his weight, almost the same as hers, and she presses her red lipsticked kiss to his cheek. 'Love you, my big, beautiful boy.'  
'Come on, princess, time to go,' Dave says. 'There are some muffins in the oven, they'll be ready in half an hour, and Lily's left some soup and roast chicken in the fridge to keep. If you get hungry, just go get some-Aves, cut the chicken for Ticky, yeah? And get the muffins for him. He's too young for ovens and knives.'  
Atticus pouts; Avery nods disinterestedly.  
Everyone says their goodbyes and Lily gets into the car, everything neatly tucked about her, her suitcase sat next to her in the backseat.  
Once they reach the airport, Lily kisses her parents on the cheek and boards her plane. She swallows three caffeine pills with a shot of 90-proof Skinny Girl Vodka 'ordered' by the sleeping geriatric next to her and spends the rest of the flight bouncing in her seat. By the time her eight hour, six minute flight is over, the shot's worn off and she looks as fresh as a daisy.  
'Mum!' Lily giggles, running off the plane.  
A skeletal woman with greying blonde hair in a wheelchair smiles hugely. 'Lily, love! Oh, it's so good to see you. How've you been?'  
'I've been good, Mum. How's treatment going? Have they got all the tumors yet?' Lily stands behind the chair and starts pushing towards the baggage claim centre. She grabs her suitcase and attaches it to the back of her Mum's chair.  
'No, not yet.' Anthea smiles up at her daughter. 'Pleased to see you, love.'  
Lily smiles back, helps her mum into her car, and drives home.

Food is not made for personal consumption, not for Lily. Food is nurturing, love, care; food is for little brothers and for estranged Mums and definitely not for Lily. Until she deserves it, until she's thin enough, Lily isn't allowed to eat.  
No chocolate cupcakes, no Sicillian pizza with chicken and tomato and pepperoni, no lasagne, no waffles and Canadian bacon. Food is love, and love is not for the self, but the family.  
Looking into the refrigerator, Lily sighs. 'Mum, I wanted to make you dinner, but there's nothing in the kitchen. I brought over my maple-plum muffin recipe.'  
Anthea rolls in, shaking her head. 'I don't really need that much, these days. So nice of your fathers to check up on my health.'  
Lily pulls out a bunch of celery, snapping off a stalk. 'I heard them, my parents, talking about you. Papa said that you had to commit to recovery, but that's not related to cancer, that's remission, and you don't /commit/ to it. And he said that you'd drag me through hell and back stepping into your grave. And you're so thin. And there's no food in your fridge. It all adds up. You're like me.' She shreds the stalk as she speaks, lightning fast, and braids the rough, stringy fibres, too terrified by the possibility of being wrong to look up from her hands.  
'Yes,' Anthea replies, stroking her cheek. 'You're a very clever girl, Lily. You didn't get that from me.'  
'Like me,' Lily giggles. Her spine straightens, concealing itself slightly, thrusting her ribs further forward, but her laugh is a sigh of relief. She doesn't need to eat now, not the whole time.  
Christmas is quiet. Lily helps Anthea weigh herself in the morning(three stone thirteen) and weighs herself after(four stone six). They open their presents after. Lily got white pointe shoes from Dave and Sebastian, blank sheet music from Avery, a sock octopus from Atticus, and an orange package from Camilla. It goes unopened. Anthea's gift, a big bottle of pure ephedrine, is opened on the plane back along with a complimentary bottle of horrible zero-calorie pinot grigio.  
It was a quiet Christmas.

The night she gets back, her skin is too tight, too itchy. She is splitting at the seams with lies and energy and the fat ballooning out her skin like spider eggs. Lily gets out of the shower and pulls on a black flapper dress. The dropped waist and silver beading accentuate what's left of her figure, and her grey and black striped knee socks cover her knobby knees. She loops on her pearls and pushes in her silver and pearl chandelier earrings, puts her blonde curls into a French twist, draws black eyeliner wings and flicks mascara on, and paints her lips bright, ruby red.  
Then she walks out the front door, sliding between snowflakes.  
And keeps walking and walking and walking for miles and miles and miles; blisters forming on her feet and popping and reforming, soaking her socks in sweat and blood and freezing.  
Snow falls, wind picks up. Her body becomes intangible, and Lily is a detached consciousness floating against the breeze.  
She wipes at her eyes, feels the frozen tears on her cheeks tear away, and dials the number that's filled up her messages.  
'Cams, I love you. You know I did, always. But I can't stop, not now, babes, 'cos I've almost made it. I'm four stone this morning; fifty six pounds! I don't want to make you unhappy, your happiness is the world to me, but I don't want mine to be second to yours. I'm making a shit case for why this isn't about you, but it's not, honest. It's me, it always has been; it's like every step I've ever taken has led me here, and it was always going to happen. My Mum's like this, too, I got it from her. That sounds like a cop-out. It's not, though. I fucked up. No, I am fucked up, and I don't want to ruin you, too, because I'm already a big, splattering mess on the floor and if you try to clean me up, you'll slip and fall and end up another big splattering mess like me. Fuck, my phone is dying. I just want you to know, I love you, and I'm sorry.'  
Her phone beeps out its last beep, dies, losing her words to the wind.  
Blinded, she is a subatomic particle moving randomly and colliding to make energy, crashing into someone and rebounding to hit the pavement.  
'Oww.' She rubs her hair, frowning. 'Are you alright?'  
'No, you stupid bitch, I just hit the fucking street like a dropped baby!' Ellie stands up, blue velvet pumps ruined by the snow, silver snakeskin dress crusted in snow. Her fishnet-covered legs straddle Lily's chest, and she can't help but notice the bright pink lace thong that matches her lipstick. 'Do you just have some sort of wish to die via hypothermia, or do you just want frostbite?'  
'I was walking and I must've gotten lost.' Lily shivers as Ellie pulls her up by the hand. She feels, suddenly, warm buttery leather that smells of cigarettes and warm honey and lemon zinger tea wrapped around her shoulders. 'You've given me your jacket.'  
'Well, seeing how your goosebumps are bigger than your tits and I'm wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck dress, it seemed to make sense.' They walk over to a bench in front of a tree that stands as a tribute to some tragic loss of a drunken teenaged life and sit. 'Jesus fuck, you're tiny!' Ellie hisses, tracing her finger along the curve of Lily's collarbone and up her swanlike neck, fingers fluttering over her erratic pulse.  
Lily slides her fingers into Ellie's wildly teased mane and kisses her. Her legs find their way around Ellie's hips, and she tilts her head back so the brunette can kiss her neck, and she moans when Ellie squeezes her bum.  
Her knees freeze on the cold metal of the bench, but the body beneath her is warm, and all she can taste is honey and cigarettes and lemon zinger tea.

* * *

**Feel free to review, those of you who still read. Lily is the easiest character to write - I've done a lot of E.D. research, specifically anorexia nervosa, and it's helpful. It's lovely if you'd review, though, because the feedback makes me a happy little monster. I hope this rewritten version is good enough to get some feedback.**


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